The Other Dursley
by Petite Rogue
Summary: AU. Strangely enough, being a Muggleborn witch in a House that wants her dead isn't Daisy Dursley's only problem; her parents are constantly redefining normality, she's actually getting on with her brother and a lot of the time being related to the Boy-Who-Lived is more trouble than it's worth.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer [that applies to entirety of this story]:**_**You've probably read Fanfiction before, so you probably know it's about using the brilliance of the likes J.K. Rowling and then adding some interesting twists and turns and all that jazz to it, until you get something that's kind of different. By that I mean it's not mine. **_

_**A/N**_: _Hello readers, old and new! I have returned from my impromptu, rather extended and unannounced hiatus to bring you the much spruced up 'The Other Dursley'! __Yes, I hadn't posted very much, but I can assure the direction it was heading was a terribly done overdone cliché, and it was kind of a waste of what could be a good idea, because all I was doing was inserting a female OC into canon and not doing it very well. I think this time round I'm doing it better. _

_I think the path I've taken is a little darker, but I think you guys will like it. Or hopefully you will. Those who read this before (the lovely reviewers and story alert add-y people that you are), I urge you to read again as I've made subtle but interesting changes – like longer chapters! – and those just joining me on this journey, please enjoy and as always, let me know what you think! _

* * *

**The Other Dursley**

Prologue

This is the story of Daisy Dursley.

Well, for the most part anyway.

The world that she knew until it was turned upside down was what most would call normal. Daisy went to school, was popular, was mean to the quiet kid because everyone else was, came home and was loved by her parents who provided for her a comfortable home in the suburbs, and was annoyed by her brother who thought nothing of biting when the last slice of pizza was involved if he thought he could get away with it.

Daisy Dursley was the perfect child in her mother's eyes. She had long blonde locks that Petunia Dursley brushed every night before kissing her daughter goodnight. She had high cheekbones that had other mothers saying that one day she could be a model, or that she would marry well with a face like that. She had bright blue eyes and a beautiful smile, that unbeknownst to her mother Daisy used to get out of all sorts of murder. And unlike her brother, who was much too "big boned" and "opinionated", Daisy was slim like her mother, and allowed herself to be dressed up in a variety of outfits. For as long as her mother was happy, she was generally happy.

Daisy Dursley was an odd child in her father's eyes. Sure her excellent grades gave them bragging rights at Parent's Evenings and he could proudly say "That's my girl" every time she wowed the crowds at piano recitals or flitted across the stage in a way that brought a tear to her mother's eye, but the fact she was this way, made Dudley, his son, his own flesh and blood, look bad. And Vernon Dursley thought that Dudley was a fine specimen, sturdy, commanding and loveable. Or he would be if Daisy didn't take the limelight. He felt Daisy was more of an Evans than a Dursley, the bright, talented family that had looked down at him when Petunia had brought him home. He turned a blind eye when Dudley ruined Daisy's moments by throwing a tantrum or demanding attention. Vernon thought it only appropriate that his daughter not think she was any better than her brother.

Dudley Dursley hated his sister. His little sister. Well, they were twins, but he had been born first, most probably having kicked her out of the way in order to get there first. She was obviously their mother's favourite, and he hated that. _He_ wanted to be the golden child. No matter how much he asked for, they got bored of listening to him talk about his video game, and so he got bored too. But they never seemed to tire about what new things Daisy had learnt at school, and she was _always_ learning new things. Or at least Mum didn't get bored. Dad always winked at him after he'd finished shouting at him for drawing rude bits all over Daisy's music sheets.

And there was nothing out of the ordinary about this. What normal family doesn't have sibling rivalry and blatant, though deeply denied, favouritism? The only thing that tarnished their standing for Most Normal Family of the Year was one Harry James Potter. The nephew of Petunia, and the cousin of Dudley and Daisy, he stood out like a sore thumb. Where the family was blonde, he had a mop of messy black hair that rebelled against all sort of taming methods, including shaving (it just grew back inexplicably and almost instantly). Where each twin seemed to seek the centre of attention, he faded into the background. And where the Dursley children were popular (either because they were liked or because it would be terrible for your health not to like them), Harry was the quiet one they all picked on.

Harry liked Daisy, despite that time when she'd put a pin on his chair or put salt in his tea or lost her new ballet slippers and blamed him or joined in when everyone was taunting him in the playground. Compared to the rest of the Dursleys, she was nice. Though she was never exactly nice _to_ him, she wasn't mean to him either. Instead of excluding him, she made him be page turner, or study with her as opposed to outright making him do her homework, or demanded that he come with her to ballet practise so he could carry her bag and make sure she always had fresh water to hand. Harry got the feeling that though she never said it, she liked having him around, and that she was in her own way looking out for him. Because where she was, Dudley sure as hell wasn't.

This was the life that Daisy Dursley led until the letter came.

And though a parent's love is supposed to be unconditional, most normal parents did not have to contend with the fact that their precious, normal, girl is in fact, a witch.


	2. Chapter One

**The Other Dursley**

Chapter One

"Why does she get one and I don't? I want one. Dad, I WANT ONE!"

"NO YOU RUDDY WELL DON'T!"

Dudley was stunned into an unusual silence. His father never shouted at him; not when he'd done nothing wrong, and even when he had, he was never this angry. His father always smiled and got him what he wanted. Never was his beetroot faced, moustache twitching anger ever directed towards him. Petunia sensed her husband close to breaking point and ushered her darling Dudders, who felt _he_ was now on the verge of genuine tears, out of the kitchen, ignoring the pleading look her daughter gave her not to leave. Daisy was stunned. Whilst she was used to her father's random outbursts, never, ever, had her mother refused to look her in the eyes.

"Daddy, what's the matter? I mean, this is just a joke right?" Daisy tried as her father paced up and down the kitchen, glancing down at the letter that had just changed everything. Harry still held on to his, and sat deathly still, afraid that even the slightest breath out of place would turn the anger towards him. "Magic isn't real, is it?"

"Well of course it's bloody real! Where do you think THIS thing-" He pointed to Harry, who was sat clutching his letter in disbelief. "-came from, what we've been trying to stamp out all of these years?" he snapped. "I always knew there was something odd about you. Too clever, too sneaky, nothing like Dudley you. I should have known you were JUST ANOTHER LITTLE _FREAK_!"

"No...no, I'm Daisy, your daughter. Daddy please-"

"Don't call me that," Vernon snapped, looking at the girl tugging at his side in disgust. Eleven years he had looked after her, spent hard-earned cash to make sure that she got the very best, and she was nothing but one of _them_. One of those unnatural anomalies who should be wiped from existence. "Just don't call me that."

"But Daddy, this is just a joke, it must be! Harry must have done it, look he's got one too, he must have written to these fake people, said he wanted me to come with, and got me all mixed up in this, but Daddy, I'm just your little girl! Daddy!"

"YOU ARE NO DAUGHTER OF _MINE_!"

Daisy gasped as she felt herself flung aside, back slamming into kitchen counter, precariously stacked glassware tumbling down after her. The tears she had been holding back fell, and fell and fell. The more she cried, however, the angrier Vernon Dursley became. It broke his heart to see his little Daisy - the little girl he had taught how to ride a bike, his beautiful princess who had excitedly read him _The Sunday Times_ after breakfast when she finally could, and made him the cutest things in arts and crafts stating he was _Number One Dad_ that he could adorn his office with and prove he was a family man - huddled on the floor, clutching her ears, crying as he threw plates, glasses, anything, in order to calm down. But all those times had been a _lie_! This girl – this _witch_ - was nothing but an imposter that had taken advantage of him. She must have known, Petunia must have known. And they had all sat there laughing at him, thinking him a fool. And if there was one of the many things Vernon Dursley hated, it was being taken for a fool.

"Daddy...please...stop..._Daddy_..." Daisy tried again, through tears, and hiccoughs, and a runny nose that even the sleeve of her cardigan was no match for.

"Stop calling me that!"

Her mother's favourite crystal salad bowl smashed close to her, its shards cutting into exposed skin, stunning her into silence as she watched little beads of red appearing on her body. Her father had never hurt her before. He seemed to realise this too – he had spent the whole of her life protecting her, and now, he was the sole reason she was crying, cowered on the kitchen floor, bleeding. Only a few hours ago, he would have killed the bastard who made his baby cry. Now... Now, he was ever grateful Dudley was normal.

"Boy!" Harry, who had been stood watching the scene, jumped at the sudden attention turned on him. "Clear this mess up – I want it clean by the time I get back. And you, stop your blubbering. You brought this on yourself."

With a few crunched footsteps, the grab of car keys from the hook and the slam of the door, Vernon was gone. The only sounds to be heard were the continued sobs of the Dursley children – one, demanding to understand why everything special happened to his 'younger' sibling, and the other wondering what she had done to end up the very thing that her father hated - and the sound of Harry sweeping up the large amount of glass now on the kitchen floor. He cast Daisy glances every so often, feeling sorry for her, a sentiment he rarely held for a Dursley.

"It will probably get better you know," Harry said, racking his brain for something comforting to say. "Uncle Vernon loves you, he won't stay mad long."

"You heard him," she said, lifting her head up, an indiscernible look in her eyes. Harry had never seen her cry before, not when she didn't want something, and she was no longer pretty, her eyes red and swollen, her face blotchy and tear stained, her nose still running. "I'm no daughter of his."

"Well, he can say that, but it doesn't change the fact you are. He's always saying it to Dudley. _If you step one more foot out of line young man, you'll be no ruddy son of mine_!"

"But Dudley isn't a _freak_!"

Daisy burst into a fresh set of tears, her sobs so loud Harry was sure that if Aunt Petunia didn't come down soon, one of the neighbours would be at the door demanding to know what was going on. He slightly hoped they would, if only to see his aunt attempting to explain why Daisy was covered in numerous cuts, most just scratches, others looking like they might warrant a plaster. No one who knew the Dursleys would believe that Daisy was an uncontrollable horrible little boy who broke everything in a fit of rage and got hurt in the process.

"Are you okay now?" Harry asked, sliding down next to Daisy who had yet to move in the hour it had taken him to sweep up all the glass, put it into plastic bags and vacuum for good measure.

"Do I _look_ okay?" Daisy snapped, grabbing the kitchen roll Harry offered to her. "Dad hates me and Mum probably does too. Dudley's gonna love this – he's always wanted to be an only child."

"At least you won't have him as a brother then."

She smiled weakly at the prospect of being rid of her twin brother. "I just don't understand...my parents, they're normal. They're not like yours, so how did I end up being just like you?" She blew her nose loudly, grabbing another piece of kitchen roll. "Do you think it's contagious?"

Harry thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't think it's like a disease you catch."

"So _why_?"

Harry shrugged. "If your parents ever let us go, then we'll find out."

* * *

It took several days for a decision about the future of the young witch and wizard in the Dursley household, and several nights of arguments of the likes the children had never heard. Dudley had always thought his parents never argued, but Daisy, whose room was next to her parents', knew better – she often heard the hushed whispers over bills, excessive spending, Marge certainly not being welcome and Petunia daring to flirt with that swine from 52 at the Morgan's garden party. But now, they did not bother to hide their growing resentment towards each other, and by the end of the week had grown tired of sending Dudley to watch television when their voices raised more than their darling Dudders was used to.

"I will not be paying for her to go to some crackpot school and learn God knows what, and that is final!"

The breakfast on the table shook as Vernon banged his fists on the table, spilling tea onto the tablecloth his wife had laid out that very morning. Dudley ate his breakfast, eyes glued to his new Gameboy game, a present from his father for being his special boy, already bored of this new recurring theme at breakfast. By dinner time, his parents were no longer speaking, only for it to start again the next morning, unless, of course if his father was going to work – then, they would hear the argument through their walls at night, the low grumble of Vernon's voice acting as a twisted lullaby.

Petunia pursed her lips. "And what would you prefer Vernon? Deny your daughter who she truly is?"

"She is not my daughter, she is _yours_!"

Daisy stared into her cereal, barely touching her Rice Krispies, even if her mother had let her put chocolate powder and copious amounts of sugar in it. Petunia had come down as Harry and Daisy finished preparing breakfast and not even raised an eyebrow at her daughter's antics – Daisy was beginning to wonder if it was because her mother no longer cared about her having a trim figure and wanted her fat, or whether it was her way of saying she still loved her. Unlike Vernon, who was clear in his newfound dislike for Daisy, Petunia remained an enigma.

"Yes, because when I gave birth to the twins, Dudley was clearly marked as yours and Daisy mine," Petunia spat, allowing herself the sarcasm she had curbed over the years of being with her husband, who was never sure whether she was mocking him, making a dig at him or worse. He now pretended it wasn't that which had first drawn him to her. "You were willing to pay for her to go to some overpriced boarding school, so I do not see why it is so difficult to simply transfer the money elsewhere."

"She can go Stonewall, and the money will go towards Dudley's university fund."

"No child of mine will set foot in that awful comprehensive!"

Harry munched on his toast pensively, thinking that were it not for this Hogwarts school offering him a place, he would be attending Stonewall High, with its boring grey brick and the kids who were always vandalising the local park. Though he had not been particularly looking forward to wearing Dudley's hand me downs dyed grey, he had been looking forward to being somewhere where Dudley wasn't, even if he still had to come back to Privet Drive every day. At least Hogwarts might offer somewhere where there wasn't a danger of his head being stuffed down a toilet, especially since some of Dudley's old friends were attending.

"And no child of mine will go to this Hogwash!"

"But she isn't your child, _remember_?"

Vernon glared at his wife, pushing away his plate. "I will not be paying."

"Then I shall be paying out of the money I gain from the divorce settlement," Petunia snapped back, satisfied at Vernon's open mouthed gape.

At times like these, she wondered what she had found attractive in him – he had turned that _delightful_ shade of purple, and over the years his moustache had grown a habit of twitching when angered or shocked, and the double chin acquired after the twins started school and life became easier, jiggling in time. Waiting for him to regain his senses, she sipped her coffee, unsurprised that Dudley had tuned out of the conversation. Paying attention to things that did not concern him was not his forte. Only Daisy and Harry looked up curiously.

"You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't push me Vernon."

"Marge was right about you," Vernon spat as he left the breakfast table, looking at his wife with a loathing he had never felt before, not towards his Petunia. She had been wearing on his nerves all bloody week. "You're nothing but a conniving bitch."

There was a sharp intake of breath from the three kids at the table. Vernon had said a bad word, and bad words weren't allowed in the house. Even Dudley couldn't get away with it, no matter how much he tried. They looked to Petunia to see what she would do, expecting at least a purse of the lips.

She smiled.

"Have a wonderful day playing golf, dear."

* * *

Though her mother seemed to want her to go to Hogwarts – Daisy had watched her as she wrote the letter that said both she and Harry were attending with her own eyes (though she wasn't quite sure how the postman would know to deliver a letter simply addressed to _Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_) - she was never quite sure whether this meant her mother had also accepted her. At least with her father, Daisy knew where she stood.

Ever since the breakfast where he had called his wife a bad word, Vernon had decided, that at least for the time being, he no longer had a daughter. He spoke to her only gruffly, and was in a good mood only when she was not about. He blamed Petunia for this, for cursing his line with this magical nonsense, and then in turn blamed Daisy for the cracks appearing in his once perfect marriage. And where Petunia would not budge about getting those _things_ out of the house, he refused to treat those things with any respect. As far as he was concerned, he had fathered Dudley and Daisy was some terrible mistake, the result of some sorcery. Harry was proof that Petunia's mollycoddling of her nephew had stopped all his attempts to stamp out the boy's magical ways. Daisy quickly learnt to stay out of her father's way as his disappointment in her often led to something or other being thrown at her, or she found herself shut in her room when he sat on the remote and thought that she used some weird magic to change the channel.

She was also slowly learning just how quickly the life you once knew could come tumbling down around you.

"Mum! _Mum_! What have you done to my room?"

Daisy found her mother in the kitchen where Petunia was busy making the cake that Dudley had demanded this morning. She'd had just arrived back from ballet class to find that her room was not as she had left it. Her double bed was gone, and in its place was a bunk bed. Though the room remained pink –pink walls, pinks curtains, pink carpet – her shelves of books sat bare, her television was gone and all her ballet outfits were gone. Even the old gifted upright in the living room had been locked. Everything she loved, was gone.

"Mum, where's my stuff?" Daisy asked again.

"Your father thought that you no longer needed what is missing. He's gone to sell it so that he can afford your tuition fees," Petunia answered, not looking at her daughter as she spoke but searching for the vanilla essence. "I will be calling Madame Celine tonight to let her know you won't be going anymore, and your father also feels you no longer need piano skills."

"But _Mum_-!"

"But nothing young lady. You should count yourself lucky that you are still in this house. Your father is very disappointed in you amongst other things, but he loves you enough to go along with this, so show some gratitude."

Daisy had a myriad of things she wanted to reply with, but she bit her tongue. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the only reason she was going at all was because her mother had threatened him with the worst kind of social suicide – divorce. Daisy had listened in on enough of her mother's conversation with the other Privet Drive housewives to know that there was nothing worse than a failed marriage, especially to the half that was filed the divorce paper. What kind of woman was a woman who could not keep her husband happy, or what kind of man would lead a woman to risk the perils of single motherhood? Daisy was also in no doubt that her father had stopped loving her. She instead inquired about the bed.

"Why the new bed then? What do I need a bunk bed for?"

"Well, your father and I have decided that Harry has outgrown the cupboard, and as Dudley refuses to give up his second room, you will be sharing a room with Harry."

"Or is it because Dad wants to keep all the freaks together? Keep us there in case we infect Dudley? Or maybe even him?"

"Don't be silly," Petunia snapped. "You'll be off to that school soon enough anyway, so you won't need a room all to yourself. And since Dudley's not going to have his sister around anymore, it wouldn't do any good to disrupt his life too much."

"And what about my life?" Daisy whined. "Doesn't it matter anymore? Why is it okay to ruin _my_ life?"

"Just go to your room Daisy. You're giving me a headache."

Daisy was always giving her mother headaches lately.

As she walked back up to her room, the unfamiliar sight and the emptiness left by the missing items led to a fresh wave of tears. In the three weeks since the arrival of the letters, Daisy had cried so much that she wondered how she hadn't cried herself dry by now. Sometimes her tears brought her mother, who would hold her wordlessly until she calmed, the scent of her musky perfume bringing her much needed comfort until Petunia kissed the top of her head and wordlessly left once more. It took all of Daisy's strength not to cry again, knowing that would not be the way to get her mother back. Most of the time, all her tears did was give her a runny nose, red eyes and a desire to stay in bed all day, despite the fact that summer brought bright blue sky days with just enough breeze to make playing outside the order of the day for most of the kids in the area.

Where Petunia seemed to spend her days, when she wasn't going about her household chores that is, lying in bed, with the curtains drawn, a cold compress on her forehead, Daisy spent her days with the curtains drawn, crying into her pillow.

It was enough to make even Harry feel more than a little sorry for her.

"I snuck you up some cake."

Daisy opened her eyes to find bright green eyes blinking at her through the bars of the top bunk. Harry deposited the kitchen roll wrapped piece of cake next to her and smiled, though she did not smile back. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, as per usual. Harry had never known someone to cry so much. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen those crystal blue eyes unmarred by the red of tears. When he had returned that evening, having helped Uncle Vernon sell off all of Daisy's things, she had been crying. Even as he moved his stuff up from the cupboard to his new, pink, room, she continued to cry. And she had been too busy crying to come down to dinner, for which Uncle Vernon seemed glad. This was one of the reasons he felt sorry for her. He wasn't part of their family, not really, and never had been. But Daisy had been a Dursley, and now she was almost nothing.

"How did you manage to get any before Dudley ate it all?" Daisy asked, sitting up and beginning to pick at the cake, controlling the desire to stuff it in her mouth all in one go. She had not realised how hungry she was until then.

"_Who Wants To Be A Millionaire_ is on," Harry shrugged. "They were distracted."

"Thanks. You didn't have to."

"I know, but you've had a bad day. I wanted to be nice."

He gave her one last smile and then disappeared to his own bunk, bouncing a little as he did so. Even if he was sad to see Daisy so upset, after years of being in the cupboard under the stairs, he was looking forward to his first night sleep in a bed he could call his own. Pulling on his pyjamas, and turning off the light, he went into bed, thinking how wonderful the pillow felt under his head. And he had an actual duvet, not just some blankets.

After awhile, Daisy spoke. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I was mean to you before."

Harry had not expected this. A Dursley, apologising to him?

"It's okay."

"I'm sorry I never stopped Dudley from being mean to you."

"No one can really stop Dudley. It's okay."

"And I'm sorry for calling you a freak."

"It's really okay. Besides, I'd rather be a freak than a Dursley."

"Try being a freak _and_ a Dursley."

Harry listened to the creak of the mattress as she turned over, and swore he heard a sniff. He wished there was something he could do to ease her pain. "It'll be okay one day you know," he reassured. "Maybe Aunt Petunia will really leave Uncle Vernon and he'll keep his precious Dudley, and while we're at Hogwarts she'll find a cure for her headache and everything will be fine. She'll make us cakes instead, and take us shopping-"

"She'll miss Dudley so much she'll start calling you Harry-kins and smother you with kisses for the smallest things," Daisy added.

"But hopefully she'll be too heartbroken to keep dressing me in his old clothes. I'll have to get a completely new set, and new glasses too, because she'll have time to take me to the opticians."

"And we'll have a massive library because reading is good for you."

"And we won't have bacon for breakfast every day, we'll have-"

"-fruit salad and raspberry smoothies! And I won't have to fight over birthday presents with Dudley-"

"-and maybe I'll actually get a birthday cake. And Christmas presents."

"Can you imagine a Christmas with no Aunt Marge? No Lucas and Amy?"

"Just you, me and Aunt Petunia. Maybe Mrs Figg too."

"Why Mrs Figg?"

"Aunt Petunia's over there all the time these days, Mrs Figg broke her hip again. And I imagine she'd be lonely, so it'd be a nice thing to do."

"We'd be the nicest family on the street."

"Maybe we'd live by the sea too."

The pair fell asleep exchanging ideas, still racking their brain as to how their lives would change if they were no longer at Privet Drive. For Daisy, it was a recent desire, moulded by the events of the past three weeks, but for Harry, it was a dream he had held since he became conscious that it wasn't right for a boy to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, to do all the cleaning in the house and never have anything that he could really call his.

He had always hoped that Aunt Petunia, his only living link to his parents, might one day stop trying to stomp out his freakishness and start loving him.

* * *

_**A/N**__: Longer chapters! Not particularly long, but this used to be two chapters so yeah… And more on the effect of this terrible discovery on Vernon and Petunia's relationship, which I think would survive Harry being a wizard because it creates a neat little them-us scenario. But what do you do when the enemy's your little girl? Parents are such funny creatures, don't you think?_

_Hope you like! And since I'm re-posting, I'll have a chapter (or two) up once a day until we get back to the point where I so rudely left off, but don't get used to the updates. Reviews are always appreciated :)_


	3. Chapter Two

**The Other Dursley**

Chapter Two

"Are you nervous Harry?"

"A little bit."

"Me too."

It was the morning that the teacher from this Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was scheduled to arrive. Daisy and Harry had spent most of last night making sure the house was spotless. Petunia had a headache, and Vernon thought it fitting that Daisy learn to work with her kind. She didn't understand why magical people were below non-magical people, but she didn't mind helping Harry and Harry didn't mind the help. It wasn't like she had anything else to do. Television wasn't worth the trouble of fighting with Dudley over what to watch now she no longer had a set in her room and her brother always got his way, and the only books she could get her hands on were in the library which was at least an hour walk away, and she was never allowed out of the house for the amount of time it would take to walk there and back.

Harry was brushing Daisy's hair, attempting to fit it with a pretty clip that Daisy had gotten for her eleventh birthday. Present number twenty-four. She had attempted to brush Harry's hair but as usual it had its own agenda. At least they had managed to figure out how to work the iron without burning anything, so their clothes were all nicely ironed. She was in a pretty green dress with a white sash around the waist, and her black shoes polished to the best of her abilities. Harry was dressed in one of Dudley's old shirts, but one he had fit into when he was much younger so that it didn't look ridiculous as most of Dudley's other hand-me-downs looked. This shirt, Daisy, with Harry as look out, had snuck into the attic to find because she thought it only right they both looked their best. She had also lent him a belt to keep his trousers up, and did her best to clean the scuffed up trainers.

They were abnormal, but if her mother had taught her anything over the years, was that being abnormal was no excuse to look a mess. First impressions count after all.

"How do I look?" Daisy asked, twirling before Harry once he had finally got the clip just right.

"You look very pretty," Harry answered, smiling at the smile that appeared on Daisy's face. He liked making her smile, especially since no one else could, or wanted to, these days. "How do I look?"

"You look very handsome. Shame we couldn't do anything about the hair."

"Maybe Professor Snape will have a spell for it."

"Maybe he'll know a spell to sort out Mum and Dad."

"And a hex for Dudley?"

"Definitely a hex for Dudley."

Dressed, they set about getting the living room completely ready, careful not to spill anything or mess up their clothes. Harry was glad he didn't have to make breakfast, he kind of got sick of the smell of bacon and it was all they ever wanted. He and Daisy had grabbed some toast before they got ready instead. Vernon and Dudley had gone golfing because the former did not think he could stand so much freakish behaviour in one room nor to see his precious Dudley infected by those people and Petunia was lying in bed with a wet flannel on her forehead as usual, because as usual, she had a headache.

"Mum," Daisy said, peering into the darkened room. It was close to midday, but the curtains remained drawn, and Petunia was wrapped in her dressing gown, lying on top of the covers. There was what looked like a photo album lying open on her chest.

"Daisy, Mummy has a headache," came the customary response.

"But Mum, Professor Snape is going to be here soon."

"Make me a cup of coffee and I'll be down soon if I must."

"Thanks Mum."

Petunia sighed as she closed the photo album, placing it back at the back of her underwear drawer, and opened the curtains. The sudden burst of light made her flinch, blinking several times before the street came into view. There were few kids out and about, many either being called in for lunch or told to wait until the bright midday sun had passed – she hoped that Vernon had remembered to take sunscreen. The last thing she needed was for Dudley to come home all red and blistered so that she'd have to spend a week nursing him back to a less whiny state all because his father couldn't remember some bloody sunscreen. Petunia noticed the twitch of a curtain in the house opposite – no doubt Mrs. Spencer was partaking in her daily snooping.

Looking through her cupboard for something suitable to wear, she really hoped that Severus Snape would dress appropriately. The last thing she needed was Mrs. Spencer spreading rumours about some weird man showing up at their door. That said, Snape could show up in the sharpest of suits and it would make little difference, there would still be rumours of a mysterious man at Number Four. The last thing she needed was Snape showing up on her doorstep full stop. As she applied some make up and brushed out her hair, she wondered why they couldn't have sent McGonagall herself – Petunia remembered listening to the witch with the tight bun and strict face in wonder, wishing that she herself could go to Hogwarts. She soon learnt, that no matter how many cases she presented, that wouldn't be the case. As if having to raise Harry wasn't enough bad memories, she now had to deal with the grown man the little boy from two streets down had become.

Petunia could already hear him criticising her choice to tell them close to nothing about the wizarding world, a world she had turned her back on long ago, a world that she had spent the past eleven years pretending she would never have to, not necessarily go back to, but have contact with. She could see him mocking her for producing a daughter who was everything she had hoped to be – pretty, talented and above all, a witch. Slamming down her hair brush with more force than intended, Petunia realised she really did have a bloody headache.

* * *

At exactly midday, there were three curt knocks on the door. Daisy rushed to open it, whilst Harry stood nervously in the living room, waiting for this Professor Severus Snape, and just like Daisy, who stood a minute or two staring up at the tall dark haired man dressed head to toe in black, Harry involuntarily took a step back when he entered the living room. This was not the pleasant, approachable teacher they had been expecting, the one they could ask a multitude of questions and he would answer them cheerfully. This man looked around the room with obvious disdain on his face, worrying Harry that maybe they had not cleaned the living room well enough, and had the coldest eyes – black, perhaps the darkest of brown, with no hint of warmth. It sent a shiver down his spine.

"Where are your parents?" he asked, noting the absence of any adults.

"Here," Petunia said, as she placed the tray she had carried in on the table. "Hello, Severus."

"Petunia."

The two adults glanced over each other, comparing the mental images they had of themselves with the adult version now standing before them. Severus thought that Petunia had become exactly as he had imagined she would – the prim and proper housewife, whose home and children was their pride and joy. The haughty, disapproving look on her thin face had not changed much over the years. Petunia thought the man before her had done well for himself – in her mind she had the poor little boy who had shared Christmas with her family, wearing oversized clothes and like Harry, seeming to never brush his hair. This man was well put together, dressed in those strange wizarding robes, though she could tell they weren't any cheap material. But those dark eyes - they had not changed.

"Please, take a seat. Would you like something to drink?"

"Tea, thank you. White, no sugar." He watched as she poured tea for him and herself and then lemonade for the children, who were sat on the sofa staring at him in what he could only deem as awe. He was, after all, their first contact with the wizarding world. "I assume you are all aware of the nature of my visit."

He took the silence and lack of objections as a yes and carried on. "Then you already know you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one of the finest schools for magical education in the world. As you have been raised in a Muggle - that is what we wizards call non-magical people - household, I have been sent here to explain to you how to obtain school supplies, or if need be accompany you to Diagon Alley, explain how to make your way to the platform on the first of September, as well as answering any questions about Hogwarts and the wizarding world you may have."

He knew the spiel from when he had started out teaching and Dumbledore thought sending him out to interact with Muggles would be good for his general image, and he hated it now as much as he had done – it had barely begun, and already he wished that he was back at home with a glass of elf wine and a good book; that is after all, what the summer holidays were for. It was made worse by the fact that sat before him was Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James bloody Potter.

"Of course," he continued, "With Mrs Dursley being the sister of a Muggleborn witch, you know doubt know more than the average Muggleborn."

"Actually, I chose to tell them nothing of your world," Petunia sniffed, sipping her tea. "It was not in my place to do so."

"How terribly thoughtful of you."

"It is what you are paid to do, is it not _Professor_ Snape?" Severus ignored her and turned suddenly to the bespectacled boy.

"Am I to assume then, that you, Mr Potter, know not that across the wizarding world you are renown for being the only wizard in history to survive the Killing Curse directed at you by one of the darkest, most powerful wizards of our time?"

Harry was taken off guard, and could do nothing but stare in confusion. "Err...what?"

"As eloquent as your father I see. Speaking of whom, I also assume you do not know how your parents met their untimely deaths that brought you to this household, rendering this infuriating meeting necessary?"

"They died in a car crash sir," Harry said, glad that he could answer something the dark man asked him. For a moment, the Professor looked as if he might laugh but instead turned his unnerving gaze that was almost a glare but not quite so on a seemingly unperturbed Petunia.

"You have let the Golden Child of the wizarding world believe that his parents died in something so inane as a car crash? I thought you might have a better imagination, Petunia, but then again, that was always more your sister's forte."

Petunia bristled. "I would like to see you tell a four year old child that his parents were murdered."

"My parents were _murdered_?" He turned an accusatory look at his aunt. "But you said they died in a car crash!"

"No witch or wizard would ever perish in a mere car crash, Mr Potter," Snape said gravely, surprised that it was he who had been given the task of informing this dark haired, green eyed boy in clothes that were a little too large for him, exactly as to why he was the Boy-Who-Lived. "Your parents were murdered by the very wizard who gave you that scar. For some reason, unknown to all, you survived."

"And that's why I'm famous?"

"Partly. At a mere fifteen months of age, you were somehow able to defeat the Dark Lord, effectively bringing an end to his campaign of horror over the wizarding world. Most witches and wizards, rightly or wrongly, see you as their Saviour."

"But I didn't do anything," Harry said, absentmindedly rubbing his scar as he digested what he was being told. "Or, at least, I don't remember doing anything."

"In that case, perhaps your aunt's decision to keep you in the dark was for the best after all. Humility is such a difficult thing to teach a child who has grown up being told he is special for no real reason at all."

"Sounds just like Dudley," Daisy mumbled, just loud enough for her mother to cast her a disapproving look and for the professor's eyes to fall back to her. Severus had been so focused on Harry that he was almost surprised to find there was a blonde girl sitting next to him; it had almost slipped his mind that Petunia's daughter was to also be attending Hogwarts.

"It is ironic, isn't it Petunia, the way people's worst fears are often played out in their children?" Severus asked, smirking at the older woman in a manner she had expected. He was still the sixteen year old boy who loved to torment her. "Your daughter a Muggleborn witch to be attending Hogwarts with, I assume, a jealous older sibling."

Petunia wondered if Headmaster Dumbledore would mind terribly if she battered one of his member of staff to death with a spatula.

* * *

_**A/N**__: Ah, one of my favourite adjustments. I originally had Severus meeting the kids alone, which was wrong of me. Petunia would never leave a wizard alone in her house with her children – think of what they could do to her precious house! Never mind the children. And she's a curious woman. Not even post-Hogwarts letter depression would keep her from an opportunity to see what little Sevvie has become. _

_Thank you for reading and your reviews are always appreciated!  
_


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The car ride to London was silent.

Petunia clutched the steering wheel with vehemence, every now and then wondering how it was that she had managed to be talked into accompanying them to London. For the past couple of weeks she'd had little trouble ignoring her daughter's pleading looks, pretending that had no link with her headaches and the hours spent in bed, and she'd never felt guilty about her choice not to tell Harry about the exact nature of his parent's death; so it wasn't the looks on their young faces that had led her to agree, casting Severus a withering look as he found her misplaced car keys in a matter of seconds just by the swish of a stick. No, she could think of many other things she could be doing rather than crawling along in the afternoon traffic, sitting next to Severus Snape of all people, the hairs on the back of her neck bristling every time she thought she could feel his dark eyes falling on her. But there were very few things, if any at all, for which she would pass up an opportunity to go to Diagon Alley.

Harry and Daisy stayed silent, their eyes seemingly fixed on the scenery outside their air-conditioned cocoon. Harry's silence was a natural consequence of the thoughts racing through his mind, his brow occasionally knitting in confusion, taking breaths to dispel the betrayed anger bubbling in his stomach. How could his Aunt not have told him that his parents were _murdered_? What she deserved was for him to throw a tantrum of Dudley proportions, with much kicking and screaming, embarrassing her completely in front of Professor Snape, but the part of his brain that set him apart from Dudley reminded him that Aunt Petunia would not be the one spending a school year with aforementioned teacher. And if Harry had learnt anything at Stonewall Primary, it was that teachers had memories long enough to rival elephants. Especially if you turned their wigs blue.

So he resigned himself to silently stewing in the back, trying to turn his mind instead to where they were going. He hadn't been outside of Little Whinging in so long, not since the zoo incident on the twins' birthday, and as motorway turned into bustling city, almost constant red lights allowing him to peer up at tall glass office buildings and gaze at shop fronts, he wondered where exactly this Diagon Alley was. He'd never heard of it.

"Take the next right."

Daisy jumped at the voice.

She had been nodding off, finally succumbing to the boredom, and not quite as excited as Harry to be going to London. She'd been here more than enough times with Madam Celine and the other girls, whether to meet real ballet dancers who trained hours on end to be able to give moving performances night after night to near perfection or for workshops with other dance schools, and she passed most of her piano exams at a London music conservatory, because 'nothing but the best' was her parent's life motto. Or had been. Now the familiar landmarks just made her feel resentful for this new world she had not asked to be a part of.

"Left at the traffic lights," Severus continued instructing, now sitting up a little straighter and more attentive to his surrounding than he had been for most of the car journey, making sure that they arrived at the first attempt. He hated getting lost. "And then follow the signs to that car park."

Petunia followed these instructions without question, though this was not the way she remembered coming with her family twenty odd years ago. Though the memory was vague, she remembered that there was definitely a pub involved, one that could not be seen unless they had contact with a magical person. She didn't remember driving into a car park, though perhaps things had changed over time. This underground parking probably hadn't existed when she was a teenager.

"Keep going straight."

"I can't," she said, staring at the approaching grey of the wall. "There's a wall there."

He did not seem to be preoccupied by this. "Just keep driving."

"There is a _wall_ there!"

"It is _supposed_ to be driven through," Severus snapped back. "And besides, you can rest assured that if it turns out is nothing else but a solid wall, you'll be the only one to perish."

Daisy clenched her eyes shut as her mother accelerated in annoyance, waiting for the inevitable fatal impact that awaited them, but it never came. She opened her eyes as she felt Harry moving next to her. He had turned in his seat to look behind them, staring incredulously at the wall they had just passed through unscathed.

"What is this place?" Daisy asked as they got out from the car, staring as a family of five loaded three trunks, several large packages wrapped in non-descript brown packaging, an owl that hopped about excitedly in its gold gilded cage into a Mini Cooper and then all got in without problem.

"Diagon Alley's latest feature," Severus answered, as he looked through his pocket for his Parking Pass. He was certain he'd placed it in his left pocket, right after he'd finished cursing Dumbledore for always giving him such delightful tasks… "It requires special permission from the Ministry, but it's highly appreciated by Muggleborns and families with Muggle members, where magical means of transport aren't exactly possible. Seeing as we're here on Hogwarts business, we have a parking space by default."

"How are they fitting all that stuff in?" Harry asked, as they hurried along behind Severus' long strides, wanting nothing more than to see how they were getting cupboards in normal sized cars without much struggle.

He looked at Severus expectantly, who pushed at the 'Up' button impatiently.

"Magic, Potter. Magic."

* * *

Emerging from the rickety lift, they stepped through into the bustling magical world that was Diagon Alley, the most popular destination in Britain for all your magical needs. If she had thought the sights of the car park were anything to behold, Daisy had not been prepared for what awaited her above ground. Petunia had to keep pulling Daisy and Harry from shop windows, urging them to keep up with Severus who seemed to have forgotten his own excitement at that age and strode in the direction of the white marble building that hosted Gringotts bank with hardly a glance behind him, even though she herself wouldn't have minded slowing the pace a little so she could marvel at the shop windows, her awe and excitement bubbling behind the surface of an impassive face.

At least Harry seemed to have snapped out of his pensive brood, and relaxed into an excited, inquisitive look that was more suited to his features, responding just as excitedly to Daisy's cries of 'Look, Harry!', arguing over which shop they would go into first. The inside of the bank was a refreshingly cool contrast to the blue skied summer day that shone unabashed onto the crowded high street, and a considerable quiet, only broken by the murmurs of conversation and the opening of the main doors.

"What are _they_?" Daisy whispered, as she entered the building wide-eyed, having been bowed in by these new beings, only to be faced by more perched on high stools behind a long counter that stretched the long of the bank, long quills scratching at rolls of parchment, sharp eyes perusing different precious metals in their exceptionally long fingers. She unconsciously stood behind her mother.

"Goblins," Petunia said quietly as Severus led them to the counter, a hand once again in his robes. She placed a gentle hand on Daisy's shoulder, and led her forward, Harry as close to her as he knew his aunt would allow. "They run the bank."

"Good morning," Severus greeted the free goblin. "I am Hogwarts Professor Snape, here to extract money from the safe of Harry Potter-" He placed a tiny gold key upon the counter. "-and to create a new account for Muggleborn student Daisy Dursley." Here he handed over a slip of parchment to the expectant goblin, who perused over the writing before nodding.

"Everything appears to be in order." He tapped a finger on the surface of the counter and a roll of parchment appeared. "If Miss Dursley's legal guardian could fill in this form, then we can continue the proceedings."

He waved them over to a cluster of seats that lined the wall, along with a quill. Severus handed Petunia the form in question, and stood by impatiently, and quite impatiently, and rather unhelpfully. Daisy sat next to her mother, looking at the curled print that declared it to be _ACCOUNT REGISTRATION FORM 1B – WIZARD/WITCH OF MUGGLE ORIGIN_. It seemed to be a normal registration form, demanding the usual – name, date of birth, parentage, address... The only unusual part was the box which asked to state '_Any known family members with magical abilities_' which Petunia scratched with difficulty _Lily Potter née Evans_.

The goblin did not seem to care for the occasional ink blotches, clearly used to Muggle parents' incompetence in basic calligraphy, a trade destroyed by the inventions of these pens a Muggleborn employee might occasionally try and introduce. Instead he was fascinated that the form did not only return the sole vault key he was expecting, but accompanying notes and an envelope.

"It would seem that your sister already created an account in your daughter's name Mrs Dursley," the goblin said, addressing a confused Petunia. "A gift, I assume. An explanation is contained within this letter."

Shocked, Petunia accepted the envelope, staring at the familiar neat-writing on the front. _Petunia_. Why had she... The goblins explanation of how the banking system worked barely penetrated her mind which was firmly elsewhere; she was only vaguely aware of handing over the debit card, with the spending limit that she had coerced out of Vernon a few days ago, signing more papers and the feel of Severus' questioning gaze on her. This was so…surreal.

"Mum?"

She had not noticed that the goblin had stopped speaking and was impatient to pass them over to his colleague. Shaking away the incoming pangs of a migraine, she cast a reassuring look at her daughter before putting away the envelope, the literature that most likely explained how her husband's hard earned money was going to end up in their vaults, and placed the gold key in a zipped compartment.

Petunia's heels echoed through the marble hall as they were led through one of the many doors, and into a narrow stone passage-way lit with flaming torches. She took in a sharp breath as more memories came barrelling into her mind at the arrival of the cart, hurtling along the tracks. If she remembered correctly, the goal of the goblins was to make you vomit before you left their bank.

* * *

It truly was a glorious day.

A light breeze accompanied the late afternoon, but it was a welcome companion to the sun that continued to shine down on the cobbled streets of the wizarding shopping district. If you had asked Petunia Dursley what she had planned to do on this particular Saturday in late July, never would she have answered that she would be sitting outside Florean Fortescue's sipping the most delicious latté she had tasted in the entirety of her adult life, with her daughter and nephew's _Potions_ Professor, watching them from the corner of her eye as they mingled with the crowd of children trying to understand exactly why it was that they too wanted the new Nimbus Two Thousand.

Though they should probably be getting on, to beat the rush hour traffic as well as to avoid some very unnecessary moustache twitching from Vernon should they get home after father and son, but Daisy and Harry had presented an excellent case as to why ice-cream would be the perfect end to a perfect day, inviting Severus before he could politely decline for want of better things to do. To his luck, however, Daisy was too engrossed in her Strawberry Mint Bubblegum Swirl to accidentally forget that Severus had already reminded her twice that he was not a walking encyclopaedia and did not know or care why wizarding coins were so different to Muggle coins or why wizards wore robes and not "normal clothing". And once she had dragged Harry away with an agreement to stay in sight, a surprisingly comfortable silence fell upon the adults.

They had nothing to say to each other.

If they were other people perhaps they might have attempted civilised conversation. Severus could have told Petunia what he had been up to in the years that had eclipsed since Lily had returned to the Evans home one summer and declared that she would never be speaking to Severus Snape again, news that did not fail to surprise the household that had come to know him as Lily's quiet best friend and accepted him as a semi-permanent fixture to their home. There were more than enough amazing anecdotes one collected over time as a teacher, both from inside the classroom and as a teacher, tales which Petunia would have gladly listened to as was her penchant for all things gossip (though she would never admit it to anyone besides the mailman who brought her regular subscriptions of magazines).

And in turn, Petunia could have regaled Severus with the tales and hardships of motherhood, made so much more interesting by the fact that just as she thought that maybe she could juggle being a wife and raising twins, she suddenly had another mouth to feed, and no sister to whom she might complain to or exploit as a free babysitting service. She might chuckle to herself (her chuckling would be an interesting sight to behold in it's own right) as she realised that all those times they had thought it was Harry's accidental magic, it was in fact Daisy who had Banished her six year old brother to the other side of the house for breaking the Lego house that she and Harry had just spent hours constructing for her Barbie's, and agree that it really was ironic the way these things turned out. _Her_ daughter was a witch!

And together they could have wondered out loud why it was that Lily Potter had opened up a vault for, as far as she had been concerned, her Muggle niece, an unanswered question niggling at the back of Severus' mind as he savoured his coffee, flavoured with more than a handful of syrups.

But they did not.

Their own thoughts were enough to contend with.

Thoughts that were interrupted as the children returned, Daisy with _that_ look on her face.

"Mum, _please_ can I have an owl? Please? Pretty please?"

"Daisy, I have already told you that I won't have any animals in the house," Petunia snapped, adjusting the position of her purse in a manner that made it clear that it was time to go. "And I am quite sick of repeating myself today."

"But _Mum_," Daisy whined. "Everything is done by mail order here, and apparently _everyone_ communicates by owls. How are we going to write to you if we don't have an owl?"

"I'm sure Hogwarts has a post office."

"Actually, it doesn't," Severus said, straightening up too. "But there are a selection of school owls at their disposal if they should like to write to you."

"There you go. You can use a school owl."

However, Daisy had already conceded to a lot of things that day, and after years of getting exactly what she wanted, it was grating on her ability to reel in the tantrum bubbling at the surface, as much as she was her mother's nerves.

"But I don't _want_ to use a school owl – I want my own! Think of it – think of it as a late birthday present. Eleven is a big number."

"You said that about your last birthday," Petunia said, matching her daughter's puffed cheeks with a glower that carried a very clear warning. "No is no young lady."

As the adults stood up and made to leave, Harry spoke up from where he had been swinging on his heels, watching the predictable exchange.

"Can I get one for _my_ birthday, Aunt Petunia?"

* * *

_**A/N:**__ My last Diagon Alley chapter was disappointing to say the least, and this is one is...different. Since this is an AU, I thought I might take some creative liberties. To most questions probably raised by this chapter, all I can say is that all will be answered in good time. Let me know what you think! Your reviews are welcome, appreciated and more than a little helpful. The response I'm getting is very inspiring. _

_It's not always easy to remain on the track of the believable when all you want to do is give Petunia the magic she's always wanted, and you can't. This is neither the time nor the place.  
_


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY!"

Harry jolted awake, staring into the blurry darkness. He scrambled for his glasses and blinked once, twice to clear his vision. Knelt next to bed with a birthday cake in hand that had more candles than were probably necessary, was Daisy, still in her pyjamas, her hair up in a messy bun and wearing enough baking ingredients to make another cake.

"What-you remembered?" Harry said, sitting up and staring at the cake she held out. Had he been the regular recipient of birthday cakes, he might have eyed the cake with something other than the delight that he did. It was a little lopsided, part of it suspiciously held in place by the lumpy, excessive green icing and _Harry Birthday Happy _ just about legible. "I-Daisy- thank you."

"You're welcome," she grinned. "Now hurry up with the candles! You've been eleven for five whole hours now!"

Unable to help the grin that came across his face, Harry took a deep breath and blew out all the candles, making sure to make a wish. He was beginning to think that anything was possible. If magic was real, and a Dursley had without prompting made him a birthday cake, and by the looks of the wrapped box behind Daisy, he had a birthday present, then wishes might just come true.

The snowy white owl he had gotten at Diagon Alley, despite Snape's comment about it being exactly what a Potter would pick and Petunia's thin disapproving lips, hooted happily from its cage on the dresser. Considering the massive sulk Daisy had been in since said owl came home and she empty handed, he had most definitely not expected this. She had barely spoken to him; most of the time she lay on the top bunk, textbook open in front of her or cursing as she got ink on her bed sheets whilst she tried to get the hang of this whole quill thing, and then barely spoke to her family as she ate her food as quickly as possible before excusing herself to do more reading.

"Took me bloody ages to get it right," Daisy said as she put the cake down and handed him the box behind her. It was wrapped in the same paper that had been used for Dudley's presents, though perhaps not as neatly, with a card tucked into the silver bow. "That as well. Well, don't just stare at it! Open it birthday boy!"

She sported a satisfied grin as she watched him open the card first, stifling a yawn as some of the little stars she'd added for special effect scattered over his duvet. It was a homemade card with the number 11 in bold silver foil in the centre of a dark blue background with golden stars stuck all over it. Harry appreciated the interior as much as he did the exterior.

_To my favouritist freak in the whole wide world,_

_(That's you Harry!)_

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY!_

_You've been really nice to me ever since we got our letters, were nice to me even when I was mean, and you're nice to me even when I go into a sulk and Mum gets headaches and makes us clean the house for the second time that day. So this is my thanks, because I'm finally appriating you for who you are – the Boy-Who-Lived! – and not a freak or a delinquent or whatever it is we've called you before. _

_So that's why I thought I'd go all out and make sure you had a bloody great birthday. Well, it's not much but it beats the shoe shine kit Dad got you last year. _

_Some days I wish you were my brother. _

_Lots of love and kisses and nice things,_

_DAISY_

Harry was speechless. It was the nicest thing Daisy had ever done for him, and he doubted that one of her parents was paying her to do so. He really didn't know what to say to the girl leaning back on her arms, looking like she would nod off any minute.

"I don't know what to say," he managed, staring at the front of the card. His first birthday card, and it wasn't even a last minute thing picked up from the gas station. Was this what she'd been up to all the times he thought she was studying?

"Thank you is always a good place to start," Daisy yawned. She nudged him with a socked foot. "Now open your present!"

Daisy had never quite understood how people could enjoy giving to others when they could receive, but watching Harry's face light up was priceless. It gave her a funny feeling, a happy one just below her right ribcage. And now she had finally say she'd done something for Harry without wanting something in return – not that she could think of anything she wanted right now anyway. In a large star spangled box with Harry Potter written across it in her neatest handwriting, was an entire outfit. All new, and all that fit him, according to her Mum anyway. There was a new shirt in a pale gentleman blue, a pair of black corduroy trousers which were both neat and practical, a five pack of boxers, a five pack of socks and brand new trainers, still white, still unmarked. Lying on top of the socks was a watch, small and silver, a watch of his own.

"When did you get all of this?"

"Remember the other day when Dad accidentally hit me with the frying pan? Mum felt so horrible she took me out shopping and she said I could get whatever made me happy. Wandered round for ages before I realised I didn't really want anything for myself. So I thought, why not? Look, she even wrote a little note!"

Rooting around the bottom of the box, Daisy handed Harry a small piece of paper, with what he recognised as his Aunt Petunia's writing.

_Happy Birthday Harry. _

Deciding it was better than nothing, Harry jumped out of bed to give Daisy a hug, sending a shower of stars onto the floor. What made it even better was that she hugged him back just as tightly, as if to say 'We freaks, we stick together you know'. But she didn't say that. She yawned out another Happy Birthday and then she climbed into bed to get some sleep before either Dudley started stomping around or on the rare days her mother was not in bed, she was rapping on the door telling them to get up and do something useful.

As Daisy slept, Harry carefully put away his new belongings. He folded the clothes into his trunk, which unlike Daisy who had most of her belongings strewn about the room, was already packed in anticipation for the first of September. He put the box in there too, deciding it might later come in use. Maybe they had certificates at Hogwarts, like the Attendance and Best Effort in PE ones that they had handed out at Stonewall Primary. Or maybe he'd come across a spell to make it more useful, add to the symbolic importance of it. He traced the letters on it with his finger pensively.

It had taken up until now for the members of the household to acknowledge him as anything more than 'Boy' or '_him'_ . An owl should have arrived telling him he was a wizard a long time ago; it was the best thing that had happened to Harry in as far as he could remember. And to Daisy too. He placed the icing heavy cake on the table for later consumption. He figured it would be safe for another few hours. Dudley didn't _usually_ venture into their room.

With another cheerful hoot from the snowy – who he really had to name soon - Harry climbed into bed. He soon fell asleep to the steady tick of his new watch.

* * *

Harry was jerked out of his slumber by a familiar shriek.

He rubbed his eyes as he heard the sound of footsteps running up the stairs, sitting up straight when the door burst open, revealing a livid looking Aunt Petunia. Her eyes narrowed as they landed on the cake on the desk which had grown even more slanted as the occupants of the room slept. Their eyes met for a split second, but then her gaze swept to the top bunk where her daughter was still curled up under the covers.

"Daisy Dursley! Wake up this instant!"

Harry flinched at the clanking sound made by his aunt hitting the bars of the bunk bed, rousing his cousin from her deep slumber.

"Up! UP! _What_ have you done to my kitchen?"

"It's just a bit of flour," Daisy mumbled, pulling the cover over her head as if that might deter her mother. "I'll clean it later. Ow, _Mum_!"

"You'll clean it now!" Petunia snapped, ignoring the glare her daughter sent as her covers went flying off her head. "I won't repeat myself. Up!"

Muttering darkly, Daisy slid off her bed, stomping down the stairs as she went. Her mother was clearly overreacting. All she'd done was bake a cake for Harry on his birthday – she should be getting a pat on the back, a 'Well done Daisy for being so thoughtful and kind' rather than snapped at for a bit of mess. Dudley was a lot messier than she was. As she entered the kitchen, ready to point out to her mum that she was being silly, she reconsidered this thought.

Perhaps she should have made a bit of an effort to clean up before she crawled back to bed.

"Well?" her mother demanded, pointing to the ingredients covering the counters, bowls used and discarded, green icing smeared on the fridge handle... "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"It's Harry's birthday!" Daisy tried. "And I wanted to surprise him, and I fell asleep –" She clammed up as her mother's lips thinned. Right, she needed rethink her tactic. Daisy tried her best puppy dog face, which in most circumstances worked. "I'm sorry, Mummy. I'm really, really sorry, and I promise it won't ever happen again. Never. I promise."

Petunia sighed, wiping at a smudge of icing on her daughter's nose. "Make sure it doesn't."

"It won't," Daisy reassured with a sleepy smile, turning to head back upstairs. Well, at least some things hadn't changed entirely. Her Mum was probably just upset about something and in a bit of a mood.

"And where do you think you're going young lady?"

"Back to bed…? I said I was sorry."

Petunia pursed her lips. "And you'll show just how sorry you are by cleaning this kitchen from top to bottom."

"But _Mum_! It's a bit of flour! Okay – fine – it's a mess, but cakes are really hard to make, and-" Daisy frowned as her mother ignored her and reached under the sink for her cleaning products. "Why can't Harry do it? I don't like cleaning the kitchen!"

"Maybe you should have thought about that before. And as you said, it's his birthday and you're not going to make him clean on his birthday are you?"

"Dad made him clean shoes last year!"

"Well, I'm not your –" Petunia stopped as she spotted something in the sink. "Is that – Daisy this is my favourite set! How on Earth did you – IT'S _RUINED_!"

"It's just got little bit of burnt stuff."

"A little? A _little_?" Petunia waved the baking trays that were coated with some charred substance. She couldn't even understand how she'd managed that without setting the house on fire or the smell reaching the rest of the house. "Why do you and your father have so little consideration for _anything_ of mine in this kitchen? Do you know how expensive these were? How hard they are to find?"

"They're just baking trays!"

"And this, is just cleaning," Petunia snapped, throwing a cloth in her daughter's direction. "This entire kitchen. Now."

The ensuing argument was enough to wake the remaining members of the household, Dudley coming down to get front row seats to his sister being told off by his _mother_. He'd never seen her so angry at his twin, and it was quite a nice way to wake up. His father was down moments later, followed by a curious Harry, who had been waiting to be called down to help if nothing else. He hadn't realised that Aunt Petunia was serious about Daisy cleaning the kitchen herself.

"What's going on?" Vernon asked, as he walked over to the fridge. "Pet, we're out of milk. And eggs." He grabbed some orange juice instead, manoeuvring around the mess as if it wasn't even there.

Petunia stared at husband incredulously. "Do you not see the mess your daughter's made Vernon?"

"Oh right. Well, what's the problem? Get the boy to clean it up and be done with it." He peered around the kitchen and realised it really was a lot messier than he remembered it. He turned to Daisy who was pulling faces back at her brother. "What were you doing any way?"

"I was trying to bake a cake," Daisy answered.

"Don't you know how to bake cakes?" She shook her head. "Aren't all girls supposed to know how to bake and clean and all that business?"

"Cooking and cleaning is Harry's job, not mine."

Vernon stared at the girl stood on the other side of the kitchen, arms crossed over her fading pink pyjamas proudly proclaiming she was a 'Princess'. He stopped the smile that was creeping onto his lips as he remembered what she was and turned to his glaring wife instead.

"Well you heard her – it's the boy's job. Oh, for goodness sake Petunia, stop looking at me like that. It's just a bloody kitchen."

That apparently was the wrong thing to say. "How about we let Dudley loose on your power tools and see how happy you are to find he's snapped that stupid drill you're always on about –"

"That's hardly the same thing – that's one of a kind prototype that was never marketed –"

"And I got these from Edinburgh! Why is it that your things are always so much more important-"

"Well, I would just tell you to go and get new ones but seeing as we have no money in our budget for those kind of things because someone insisted we send her to some stupid-"

"Don't you dare bring that up again! You agreed Vernon!"

Her husband's moustache twitched dangerously, as if he had a lot more to say on the matter, even if he'd already said it and he would keep saying it if Petunia didn't screech every time he did so. Instead he drained his glass of orange juice. He didn't need this.

"Marge invited me to go down and see her," he said slowly, his eyes looking at the orange bits that remained in his glass. Only he and Daisy liked orange juice with bits. "She thinks it might do some good, a change of scene. I think I'll take her up on her offer." He met his wife's gaze. "And I'm taking Dudley with me."

"You should take Daisy too," Petunia said, her voice the calmest it had been all morning. "I'm sure your sister would like to see her niece as well."

"I don't bloody think so." He pushed off the counter he'd been leaning on, merely wiping the butter he'd accidentally leant in on his pyjama bottoms. "Come on buddy. Let's get you packed up and we can stop off at _Jacob's_ for a full English Deluxe before we head off."

But Dudley remained where he was on his mother's orders, who followed her husband up the stairs, struggling to retain her calm exterior as she watched Vernon begin to throw clothes into a suitcase. Her eyes widened when he reached for the safe that contained their passports.

"You said you're just going to your sister's," she said, panic worming into her voice. "You don't need passports to get to Cornwall."

"I know," was his reply. "This is just in case."

Petunia's heart beat faster. "Vernon, _please_."

"It's not a nice feeling is it Pet," he growled, as he fought with the dodgy zip on the suitcase. "This is how I felt when that blasted letter came for my beautiful girl, when you practically blackmailed me into sending her away and turning into a- a cohort of the devil – you took her away from me."

"She is still your daughter. She hasn't gone anywhere. You're the one pushing her away."

"And what are you doing to me, eh? What are you doing to us? Who's the one breaking us up? Daisy's just a little girl. Tell her she can't go, she won't go. But you're here, telling her she can – the boy, I get Petunia, he's not ours and good riddance – but she's one of _ours_. Or at least, she was."

He sank down on the bed next to her. He hated talking about his feelings. He preferred to argue about money and the principal of things and shout and growl, and usually his wife got the message. They'd always seemed in tune to each other, but lately, ever since those blasted letters, everything was off.

She took one of his hands into hers. He did not look at her, but he did not pull away.

"Nothing will change."

"Won't it? I was _there_, Pet. I held you when your parents died, because of _them_. I watched you hate your sister even more every day, because of them, because of what she was – do you think I want that for my Dudley? To not even see him graduate because I'm pushing up daisies? There was a fucking reason we swore we'd stamp it out of him and here you are-"

He let out a frustrated growl, snatching his hand away to run through his hair.

"Their war is over, Vernon," Petunia tried, wishing her husband had just voiced his insecurities earlier; it would have made things so much easier. "Nothing will happen to us because of _them_."

"It's already happened."

Petunia watched her husband leave, unable to find the words to make him stay. She just about managed a smile and a kiss to her son's cheek as he came to say goodbye before she let herself curl up on the bed, her head pounding with the tears she'd forgotten how to cry and the thoughts and memories whirling into a greater mess than her kitchen. Vernon was right, of course. The wizarding world had taken so much from her, and he'd done his best to give her everything to make up for it and here she was, further tipping the balance of their perfect family.

Harry had to go to Hogwarts. Though she could most likely find an argument to make him stay – she was his legal guardian after all – she'd always known he would go, somehow. If Severus had somehow managed to afford Hogwarts, he'd have found a way even if he had to take a loan and pay it off later. And since he had his own mountain of gold in a vault deep in the centre of London, the only thing that was ever going to cause problem was taken care of. But since Harry had to go, so did Daisy.

She _wanted_ her daughter to go, to have a chance to live through all the wonderful things that Lily would talk about when she came back for the holidays. They'd never let Dudley go through what she'd gone through; Petunia would not repeat her parents mistake. Having a witch in the family should be no more exciting than having a dentist in the family. And Vernon would come round; he always did.

When Daisy came to check on her mother that evening, she found her asleep on top of the covers, two passports clutched tightly in her hands.

* * *

Despite the rather abrupt departure of two of their members, August passed rather peacefully for the remaining occupants of 4 Privet Drive.

The days where Daisy had to wake her mother from the depths of the master bedroom slowly became fewer and farther between. She seemed to even find a renewed interest in her daily snooping and gossiping sessions. Whenever the neighbours enquired, Petunia told them that father and son were bonding before Dudley was off to Smeltings, and she was spending her time with Daisy before she was off to Our Lady of Grace, a prestigious boarding school that she had been offered a scholarship to. Harry, well Petunia never really talked about him as per usual, but somehow everyone knew that come September he would be enrolled in St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Criminally Incurable Boys, where unfortunately it was most likely that he would become a permanent pupil, because well, _you know_, and neighbours would nod gravely though they did not know at all.

Daisy was never quite sure whether her mother had decided to accept her or not, for nothing had gone back to "normal" but Petunia seemed to be at least tolerating her daughter's, and her nephew's, oddity. Books were allowed in the living room as she sat knitting them scarves that she assured they would need because Lily had once told her how cold it got at Hogwarts, and they sat attempting to take in the wizarding world through the pages of their new volumes. Hedwig, as Harry had finally named the snowy, got to stretch her wings when Daisy convinced her mother to let her owl order more books about the wizarding world, provided that the owl left and returned at night. Flourish and Blotts had no trouble abiding by the delivery note, and so once again, Daisy could be found with her head in a book.

"You're in this one as well," Daisy would say, twisting round in the armchair to look at Harry, who was sometimes reading as well, but most of the time was taken full advantage of this new home of tolerance and watching cartoons on a loop – even the afternoon reruns. "_However, the innovations in our society which took place in the past ten years could not have been accomplished was it not for one Harry Potter, who on that fateful Halloween night fought valiantly for the good of all wizardkind…_"

Petunia made a disapproving noise. "One year olds do not valiantly fight for anything."

Harry looked over at his aunt, opened his mouth to comment, and then thought better of it. He'd learnt that asking about his parents was no more acceptable now than it had been Before. Yes, Aunt Petunia was sometimes responsive to being told about the ceiling of the Hogwarts Great Hall or the outrage that Daisy felt when she learnt Muggleborns were not seen as worthy as Pureblood wizards but most of the time, she would just respond with something along the lines of:

"Daisy _please_. Remember Mummy is prone to headaches."

Or in his case, she wouldn't reply at all.

So he didn't push it. He liked being able to wake and curl up in the sofa with a bowl of cereal and watch cartoons, sometimes joined by Daisy, who would wait until her mother was up to ask if they could have fruit salad or on the odd day, bacon sandwiches. And he accepted any extra that Daisy brought to him, telling him he would get square eyes if he kept watching telly so much as she did so. They still had chores, but it was like without Vernon and Dudley around, the house just wasn't as messy, so things took less time to clean, and they had more time for other things.

They even took a walk around the local National Park one Saturday.

He wouldn't have minded going to Stonewall High Harry thought, as he and Daisy walked past the grey building one afternoon, Petunia having decided that enough reading and enough cartoon watching had been done to last them a lifetime and some fresh air might be useful right about now, if this was how it was going to be from now on: getting on with Daisy, Aunt Petunia actually acknowledging his existence as something more than a burden, and allowed to be a normal eleven-year-old boy.

Only problem was that Dudley and Uncle Vernon were not to stay at Aunt Marge's indefinitely.

* * *

On the eve of September, the Dursley household was a flurry of activity.

Clothes needed to be ironed and folded neatly into trunks and suitcases, books put away, bedrooms left in a respectable manner, packed lunches decided on, addresses noted, and any other preparations that needed to be done before the start of term. With all three of the children off to a boarding school of sorts, Petunia felt a headache growing as she tried to make sure that they had everything. Vernon had conveniently decided that he was going to spend the entire day washing the car, which often involved standing on the curb talking to the other husbands on Privet Drive who were doing the same thing : ignoring the chaos that was going on within their deceptively quiet households.

"Daisy! _Daisy_! For goodness sake, take your brother's knickerbockers off of your head!" Petunia snapped as Daisy ran past the open bedroom that had been temporarily converted into a laundry room. "Have you even _started_ packing?"

The girl in question ran back, sans knickerbocker though seemingly dodging the wrath of the Smeltings stick, and gave back a breathless answer. "I'm trying! But Dudley keeps hitting me with his stick."

"Then stop annoying him. Here, take these into your brother's room." Petunia held out a pile of ironed and folded t-shirts, bought at the start of summer, but if that Marge woman had anything to say on her Duddikins' diet, would probably be too tight now. "And if I see you running about again, I'll safely assume you've decided you want to go to Stonewall High and spend the rest of your life working at Safeway."

With only a bit of grumbling, Daisy trudged down the corridor, first to deposit her brother's clothes (and dodge that Dreaded Stick of Doom) and then to get started on her own packing. So far, she'd only managed to pile up her books at one end of the trunk. Harry looked pretty much done, the only thing left to do was to place the ironed robes, currently hanging from their bunk bed, on top of everything else to ensure minimal wrinkling the next day. He was currently trying to clean Hedwig's cage who sat on the windowsill, head tucked under her wing, fast asleep.

"How did you get packed so quickly?" Daisy whined, looking from her half-filled trunk to all the stuff she still had to put in neatly. "This is going to take _ages_."

"I don't have that much to pack," Harry shrugged. He didn't feel the need to mention he'd been packed for ages. "And I'm very good at avoiding Dudley."

"He's surprisingly good with it for someone with a broken arm."

"Uncle Vernon probably spent the whole time training him how to use it."

"I still don't understand what it's _for_ – why would you _give_ Dudley more to hit people with? He manages alright without any help from anyone else"

"It's character-building," Harry replied in his best Uncle Vernon impression. Exactly whose character it was building he had yet to specify.

The original hope they had felt upon seeing Dudley emerge from the car with his arm in a cast had quickly diminished when they saw that it had little effect on his ability to wield that stupid stick for his own gain. Petunia was rather surprised to see her son in this condition, and the only response she got to her query as to why she wasn't told was a rather enigmatic '_An eye for an eye, Pet_'.

Whilst the adults disappeared upstairs, Dudley filled them in on his three weeks in Cornwall, regaling them with tales on everything from the rock candy to the sunburn and to Colonel Filibuster (who Dudley suspected Aunt Marge snuck off in the middle of the night to go and see) who had pushed him down the stairs, apparently just to see if he could. In his defence, the Colonel, as well as the other two adults, had made their way through a lot of wine that night and someone would have ended up with a broken _something_. He'd made friends, and he proudly showed off the doodles on the once white cast – messages of farewell and _get better soon, Dud_. He'd be sorry to see it go. Tomorrow if the hospital said so.

Whilst Petunia drove Harry and Daisy to King's Cross, Vernon would be taking Dudley to the hospital. It'd be yet another father/son bonding opportunities.

As she listened to the sound of the water hose outside, Daisy thought it wasn't fair that in almost two months she hadn't spent any alone time with her father. At all. Granted, she had never been a true Daddy's girl – he had spoilt her because she was his daughter, and his daughter deserved to be spoilt – but he'd always made an effort. Anything from giving her one of the Grunnings executive pens, heavy gold plated things more suited to Dudley but Daisy was the one more likely to use it, to spending Sunday morning trying to get through at least half the _Sunday Times_ crossword, making up words when the real words seemed just as made up.

Harry didn't even look up when Daisy stopped piling clothes into her trunk quite suddenly, and dashed downstairs.

Having cleaned his car from top to bottom, Vernon was just getting started on his wife's car when Daisy appeared at the front door, just content with watching him for a few moments. Normally she would have brought out a Coke from the fridge or her mother would have sent her out with something equally refreshing, but Daisy couldn't stand the way he observed whatever she gave him as if looking for wizard germs, the way the boys at Stonewall Primary had feared infamous lurgies up until Year 4. He did not look at her, or acknowledge that she was there, just began to soap up the car, sweat glistening from his moustache under the afternoon sun.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

This time he did look at her. Water dripped from the yellow sponge as he looked at the girl standing in the doorway. She had grown since Vernon last looked at her, _really_ looked at her. She'd be like her mother yet if she kept shooting up. A part of him wanted to say something comforting, to wipe away the tears that glistened in her eyes the longer he took to answer. His little girl.

"I don't hate you," he answered, dumping the sponge in the bucket, watching the water spill over onto the pavement. "I just…I hate what you _are_."

"What if I didn't go tomorrow?" Daisy tried. "What if I stayed here and went to Stonewall instead?"

He thought this through. And then he shook his head.

"It's not that simple darling. There's just so much… Sometimes - sometimes grown-ups need a lot of time to get used to things. Lots of time. And sometimes miracles." He sighed and reached for the sponge again. "Just do your best, alright – at whatever it is you people do. You've still got my name after all."

"I will do," Daisy said, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. "I'll make you proud Dad."

* * *

_**A/N**__ : Well…Harry's birthdays are always dramatic, aren't they? I was going for a few things in this chapter, and I'm not sure if I quite hit the high notes, but it is adequate. Originally the wizarding world got a lot more involved with Harry's birthday (he got presents from the likes of Dumbles and co.) but I decided that things should happen closer to home, and that the changes be more…subtle, and affect more than just Harry. I am indeed exploring how one lopsided birthday cake changed the future of the wizarding world_. _Amongst other things_.


	6. Chapter Five

**The Other Dursley**

Chapter Five

"_Mum_! Dudley's kicking my chair again!"

Petunia wished, not for the first time in her life since giving birth to two healthy, delightful children, that she'd never learnt how to drive a car. Then she wouldn't have to be navigating through morning traffic, head throbbing, observing a strong positive correlation between Dudley's boredom levels and Daisy's screeching levels and having those rare moments where she wondered why they just couldn't be a little more like Harry. At least _he_ was quiet. It was during these moments that she could truly appreciate this particular aspect of his being.

"Dudley, swap seats with Harry this minute," Petunia snapped, using the red light to turn around and look at her son sternly. "And the next one who speaks will find themselves outside of this car faster than they can say Mum. Is that understood?"

Grumbling something that sounded rather like '_Dad would never let you do that to me'_, Dudley and Harry navigated place change whilst Daisy went back to staring out of the window, trying very hard not to sulk. It was that Petunia was a better person that she did not bite her son's head off where it came to his father. Instead, she took very deep breaths and told herself that Vernon was making an effort. She could not get angry at him for playing golf today of all mornings; not when it would help him step up his efforts to buy out the rest of the Grunnings partners and therefore provide much needed funds for their children's education and their general lifestyle, and not when he had finally conceded that allowing Dudley to spend time with his sister would not contaminate him, but instead prevent the drift Vernon was so scared about.

Dudley himself, as it was, didn't mind. He was sort of sick of being left out of everything because he was normal. He was beginning to grow a little sick of _being_ normal actually. For example, nice normal boys didn't have strange pets – he'd have rather liked a turtle or perhaps a tiger. He drew the line at owls though; that was just _weird_. Besides, the freak's owl kept giving him some funny looks. He wouldn't have minded having trunk as well instead of a suitcase on wheels that was kind of lame by comparison, and to have had the capacity to do all the things Daisy sometimes hissed she would do to him once she found a book telling her how to. They _were_ twins after all (however much Dudley denied it in public) and they'd always been treated the same, even if it was…differently. This magic thing was something that separated them completely. As he helped the unloading of the trunks by keeping hold Hedwig with his good hand, watching them struggle to unload them onto the trolley, Dudley couldn't help thinking that he rather missed being a twin.

Platforms 9 and 10 were the busiest platform by far, and you could spot the students heading to Hogwarts if you really focused. There were owls hooting, Dudley swore he saw a toad hop past and the trolleys being pushed along were not loaded with suitcases but the large rectangular trunks of varying materials. They reached the barrier between the two platforms, and Petunia begun fussing.

"Dudley, you hold on to the trolley with Mummy," she said, taking Hedwig out of his hand and balancing her on the luggage. "Daisy, you and Harry can go together. It's just like the car park – walk through it and you'll be on the platform. Come along, we haven't all morning."

Though they did not look too confident, Harry and Daisy held hands, took the count of three and dashed towards the wall. Dudley was certain he'd blinked and missed the trick to it. Did the floor suddenly open up or was it one of those automatic door thing that were appearing in all the supermarkets? He was still pondering this when his mother told him to keep walking no matter what. Well, he could see why his father had suddenly declared her raving mad. She wanted him to walk right into a wall! But her determined stride and tight grip on his good hand told him not to argue with a crazy woman. If he broke something else at least he'd have a cool holiday story to make up for the boys at Smeltings. Maybe a motorbike accident?

But Dudley had barely finished his thoughts when the wall he had been so sure he was going to crash into opened up into an entirely different platform. The sign informed him that he was currently standing on Platform 9 ¾ .

"Wicked."

Petunia was just as awestruck as she had been by the magnificent scarlet machine that was the Hogwarts Express the first time she had seen it. The platform was full of parents waving off children, and she could not believe that she was here again, but this time she was here as a proud, even if overwhelmed parent, struggling with trunks and owls and emotions and bleedin' migraine. Dudley had tugged out of her hold once he realised that he was perfectly safe, and gone to stand by his sister who was telling Harry all that she had read about the Hogwarts Express.

"Apparently, the train ride is just tradition. All the magical families could get to Hogwarts by other ways – Apparition, bus, the Floo Network, and up until the start of the century, magic carpets – but they thought it was a great way to make new friends and catch up with old ones. Does Smeltings have a train Dudley?"

"I don't think so," Dudley said. "Dad's just gonna drive me up on Wednesday. Guess there's a train that goes near it though…"

"Oh...that's a shame. Look, there's an empty compartment!"

They were three-quarters down the length of the train. Petunia was glad she'd ushered them out of the house as early as she could manage it. It was only a little past ten and already most of the train was packed, or carriages claimed as they hovered outside it say their last goodbyes or talk to siblings yet to grace the halls of Hogwarts or long graduated. Claiming the carriage with Hedwig, and allowing Dudley to see the inside of the awing scarlet engine, she tried to gather all the parenting lessons that life had taught her over the years. But nothing could have quite prepared her for this. _Oh Mum, how did you do it?_ Petunia found herself asking. This was the last time she'd have all of them together until Christmas at earliest. Four months was entirely too long.

"Mum, please don't cry," Daisy said, though she was holding back her own tears. "It's only a school where some crackpot old fool will be teaching us useless tricks."

"I know, I know," Petunia said, dabbing under her eyes with her fingers. "I just don't understand when my babies got so big – both of you. You off to Hogwarts, of all places, and Dudley off to Smeltings, just like his father…"

"Mum, seriously," Dudley said, moving away from his mother's soppy affections. He hoped that his mother really wasn't going to cry in front of all these people. Sure, he wasn't going to the school, but _still_. "You're embarrassing us."

"Well, you get back to me when you're a parent and see how you feel!" She reached over and tried to flatten Harry's relentlessly messy hair, noting vaguely that he'd done his best to cover up his scar. "When you're at that school, you'll find something to flatten this mess won't you?"

"I'll try to," Harry answered, not even vaguely embarrassed.

"And you'll carry on being the good boy that you are? I know Lily…" She trailed off as if she'd started a sentence she'd only just realised she really did not want to finish. "I know she'd give anything to be here, so you make her proud, you hear? Make… make me proud."

Surprising himself, Harry leant forward and gave his aunt the first hug he could remember in a long time. She was hard and bony, and she patted him awkwardly on the head, and was it not for Daisy being a witch and that letter from the bank she'd have probably never given him a second glance, but she was being kind, encouraging, the familiar scent of her perfume comforting and she was the closest thing he had to a mum – to _his_ mum.

Dudley was positively disgusted at this public display of affection – how could a boy now well into his double digits even dare to hug a female relative of his own initiative? If he had his Smeltings stick with him he'd hit Harry around the head with it for being so wet. And for hugging _his_ Mum. Well, his and Daisy's. She was allowed to hug her Mum as she was doing, and even cry if she wanted to. _She_ was a girl.

"I know you'll make me proud, my beautiful little Daisy-bear," Petunia gushed. "You always have, and you always will, no matter what. You know that, don't you?"

"I know," Daisy nodded, trying to shake away the dread she felt at the thought of waking up tomorrow in a strange place, in a strange bed, surrounded by strange people and not to the shouts of her mother and the smells of breakfast. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you even more. Don't forget to write."

"I'll write every day."

"That's what they all say." With a final kiss to top of her daughter's head, she straightened up and surveyed the trunks. "Now let's figure out a way to get these on the train. Daisy dear, you and Harry take that end, and I'll take this end. On the count of three…"

As they begun to struggle with the trunk, they heard a cool voice behind them. "Here, let me help you with that. This compartment, I assume? "

The tall man with long platinum blond, almost white hair, to his shoulders, dressed in expensive looking robes and carrying a walking stick that looked like it might just be worth the value of their house, waved it in the direction of the trolley and the two trunks floated onto the train, and presumably into the compartment he had enquired about. It took all of Dudley's need to appear as they unmoved self-proclaimed older brother not to squeak at this show of magic.

Beside the blond wizard stood a miniature version of himself, younger and without the walking stick.

"Thank you," Petunia smiled courteously. Though she was sure she would have managed somehow without this wizard showing off his poncy magic, she could not pretend that that was certainly more…efficient. "They can be a little heavy."

"My pleasure," the man drawled, his eyes falling momentarily on Harry. He held out a hand to Petunia. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Lucius Malfoy, and this is my son, Draco."

She took the offered hand with the suspicion she offered all of wizardkind. "Petunia Dursley. This is my son Dudley, my daughter Daisy and this is my nephew, Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter?" Draco exclaimed, fixing his eyes on the small black haired boy standing next to his aunt. "You're _the_ Harry Potter?"

"Yeah," Harry replied coolly. "Yeah, I am."

Lucius laughed mirthlessly. "Do excuse my son. Master Potter is quite a celebrity in the wizarding world, Draco has been so excited to meet him. I'm sure, over time, they will become good friends."

"Would you like to come sit with us?" Draco offered. "Crabbe, Goyle and I have a compartment a little further up the train."

"Only if Daisy can come too," Harry replied, not particularly wanting to instantly find himself in a carriage full of three strangers without even Daisy by his side.

"_Her_? But she's a-" Draco was cut off by his father's deathly grip on his shoulder.

Petunia narrowed her eyes, instinctively pulling Daisy closer to her. "She's what exactly? Does your son have a problem with my daughter Mr Malfoy?"

"No, no, not all," Lucius answered, attempting to charm her with his aristocratic smile. "I'm afraid Draco's been a little sheltered and his only friends are male. You know what children can be like at this age."

"Girls are just as good as any smelly old boys," Daisy said, wrinkling her nose at this insult to her gender.

"Of course dear," Petunia interjected before Daisy began a defensive spiel on how she was probably better than this Draco boy and would show him so. "I'm sure if Draco ever gets over his dislike of _girls_-" She gave the older Malfoy a look to assure him she knew exactly what his son thought was wrong with her daughter "-then maybe they'll all become fine friends. Now, it was a pleasure meeting you Mr Malfoy, Draco, but I think it's time the children ran along."

"Certainly. The pleasure was all mine Mrs Dursley," Lucius smiled. "Goodbye Master Potter, Master Dursley, Miss Dursley, have a wonderful year. I shall walk Draco back to his carriage."

"Well, that was a bit strange," Harry said, flattening his hair over his scar absentmindedly as he watched father and son walk away. "Not wanting to sit with Daisy because she's a girl."

"He _looks_ like a girl," Dudley added in agreement with Harry's assessment. "Dad says men who grow their hair that long are no good hippies sponging off hard working people, and only Jesus could have long hair because God wanted him to fit in with all the weirdoes he was helping."

Petunia shook her head trying hard not to burst out laughing. "Your father…" She couldn't help the smile that crossed her features. She loved being reminded of the reasons she loved her husband. "Right, I think it's about time Dudley and I were off to the hospital – _no_, you may not keep that thing on for any longer – so you two had better get on the train. Say goodbye to your sister Dudley."

"Bye," Dudley said.

"Bye," Daisy mimicked.

"You're not going to see each other for months and that's all you have to say to each other?" Petunia gave an exasperated sigh as they showed no interest in saying anything deeper. She'd have thought after their talk last night, Daisy might make a bit of an effort. "Fine, suit yourselves."

With a last kiss to both their foreheads, she ushered her magical protégées onto the train. The trolley that they had pushed the trunks on seemed to have found its way elsewhere, and so she resisted trying to hold Dudley's hand in order to make herself feel better. Instead she suggested this glorious little ice cream place near the hospital that Dudley would just love, and he was free to have as many scoops as he wanted. They were about to start their descent on the stairs marked 'Exit' when they heard a shout behind them.

Turning, they spotted Daisy making her way through the crowds, blonde hair flowing behind her.

"What is it Daisy? Did you forget something at home?"

"No…" Daisy breathed. "I forgot to say goodbye. Properly. "

Before either could say anything she had grabbed his once broken arm, uncapped a marker pen with her teeth and begun writing, regardless of all the messages already present on the greying plaster. Petunia could not make out what she was writing, but by Dudley's smile it can't have been anything bad. With one last hug for Petunia, and a grin for her brother, Daisy was back off down the platform.

"What did she write?" Petunia asked once they were back in the car. Dudley handed over his arm. "Big D? What is that?"

"No, Mum - look _carefully_."

And there, amongst the scribbles of _KING OF THE SANDCASTLE_ and _Posh Londoner Dud x_ was Daisy's careful writing:

_I'LL MISS YOU  
BIG BRO,  
D x_

So Daisy _had_ listened to her. Petunia schooled her features and narrowed her eyes at Dudley's hopeful look.

"Don't think for a minute I'm going to let you keep it on just because your sister's written on it."

* * *

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Guess what?"

"What?"

"We're going to Hogwarts," Daisy grinned, ducking out of the trajectory of the ball of aluminium foil that had once contained sandwiches. The train had well and truly left the city now, and the balls of nerves (once mixed in with hunger) were slowly beginning to ease into a nervous excitement. "We're actually going to a real school, with real magic and it's not just a fig of our imagination!"

"Figment," Harry corrected. "Our imaginations don't have figs."

"I know that – I was just testing you. Anyway, how can you not be more excited about this? You're famous here! That hippie dragon kid was literally tripping over his feet to get your autograph."

Harry pulled a face. "That's exactly the problem."

Though he was extremely grateful that the jealous tone had finally left Daisy's voice whenever she mentioned his fame in this new world, it didn't mean that he had gotten used to the idea in itself. He'd spent the past seven years or so at a school where he was always the unpopular one, Dudley making sure of it when it wasn't the strange things that tended to happen around him, and his aunt and uncle had perpetuated rumours that he was some little monster running havoc in their home. Probably to cover up that the actual monster came in the much larger form of Dudley. It wasn't that he wasn't used to being the odd one out - he'd _always_ been the odd one out - but that this time, rather than being continuously put down and underestimated, he was glorified, mentioned in book after book, for something he didn't remember doing. There was an image people were expecting him to live up to, and he wasn't sure if he could do it.

"What if the other kids - the ones with wizarding families - know a lot more than us? I mean, it's okay for you, you're Muggleborn, you can use that as an excuse, but what about me? I'm the bloody Boy-Who-Lived!"

"Oh, I heard a rumour you were on the train," said a ginger haired boy who had appeared at the open carriage door. "Well, I thought Fred and George were just winding me up as usual, but blimey, you are _the_ Harry Potter, aren't you?"

Harry lifted up his mess of hair to show the lightning bolt scar that acted as proof of his identity. "Yup, I'm him."

"Do you mind if I sit here?" the boy asked. "I mean, I'll understand if you want to be alone Mr Potter, but Fred and George really wind me up, and they say Lee Jordan's got a pet tarantula and I'm not too keen on spiders."

"Of course," Harry replied, feeling himself growing red at Ron's bashfulness around him. "And call me Harry, just Harry."

"Ron Weasley."

"I'm Daisy Dursley," Daisy introduced herself. "Are you from a wizarding family?"

"Yeah, I'm the second youngest of seven," Ron nodded. He beamed and puffed out his chest as he added, "From a long of Gryffindors me. I don't know what I'll do if I'm not Sorted into Gryffindor. Why'd you ask?"

"Because Harry was raised by Muggles and doesn't know if he's behind everyone else."

"Daisy!" Harry exclaimed, shocked at his cousin's bluntness. She just shrugged and held out her hands defensively.

"I wouldn't worry mate," Ron shrugged. "We're not supposed to do magic outside of school anyway, and there are loads of Half Bloods and Muggleborns who don't know much about our world. What about the Muggles that raised you? Were they horrible?"

Harry shrugged. "They were alright."

"No, we weren't," Daisy scoffed. "We were bloody horrible."

"Yeah, but you came round, didn't you? And Aunt Petunia as well. I'm not going to hold something like that against you." He nudged her with his trainers, the trainers that _she_ had offered him. "You're not gonna sulk, are you Daisy-bear?"

"I will if you call me that again."

"She's my cousin," Harry explained to Ron, who hastily looked away from where he had been trying to get a closer look at the fabled scar. "She's alright."

"So you're Muggleborn?" Ron asked.

Daisy nodded. "Yup. It was a bit of a shock to my anti-magic family, of course. They like everything to be normal, predictable, and weren't exactly chuffed when I turned out to be… Well, at least my brother's normal."

"I didn't even know that could happen – having two kids, and only one of them being magical."

"Ah, I'm even more special then," Daisy smiled. "I'm a twin."

Ron was stunned. "No way! I can't imagine Fred being a Squib, and then George being a wizard. Fred and George are identical twins, you see. Not even Mum can tell them apart. Well, I think she could but Fred and George don't make anything easy for anyone."

"What's a Squib?" Harry asked.

"It's a witch or a wizard born without any magic," Ron explained, quite glad to be the point of information for Harry Potter.

"Then they wouldn't be a witch or wizard then," Daisy pointed out. "They'd just be a Muggle."

"Nah, Muggles are just Muggles – they have Muggle parents and are probably gonna have Muggle kids. But Squibs, they're a bit of an accident, you know? They're supposed to be a witch or wizard, but they just don't have any magic. Muggle repelling charms won't work on them and stuff. And they usually have magical kids. For ages people though Muggleborns had Squib parents who didn't tell them what they were."

"And now?"

"Dunno. I think it's just random. Must be if your twin is still a Muggle."

Harry's fears slowly eased as the conversation went on and they continued to speed towards wherever Hogwarts was. Despite Daisy's extensive reading, she still found question after question to ask Ron, who in turn revealed that he didn't exactly hold all the answers. The source for most, if not all, of his answers were his brothers. By the time the food trolley arrived, they'd found out that there was a curse-breaker and a dragon tamer in the family, the oldest Weasley at Hogwarts was one of the Prefects who could be seen walking up and down the corridors with a silver badge pinned to their chest, the twins were experts in all things trouble making, the only girl in the family had a year to go until she came to Hogwarts – "We know she's not a Squib 'cos she's been making things float since she was five and when she's angry…bloody hell" – his father worked for the Ministry and his mother was, like Aunt Petunia, a housewife. And like Aunt Petunia, she'd packed a sandwich for her son to consume on the train.

"I wish we could get everything," Daisy sighed, as she hovered over the trolley, trying to decide what she wanted. "I don't know what to choose!"

"Maybe we should get a bit of each?" Harry suggested, realising that he felt the same way. And Ron, who had started on his squashed sandwich of an unknown filling didn't seem to be suggesting anything. "Then we'll know what we like."

"And what we don't like we can send to Dudley or something."

As she went to reach into her shoulder bag for her money bag, he stopped her. "My treat."

Daisy who was never one to argue with treats allowed him to pay, but unlike her brother did not tear into the food without second thought. It had never occurred to Daisy just how differently all three of the children were treated when it came to food: Dudley was indulged to his heart's desire, Harry had been deprived just short of starved, and she, she had always been told to watch her figure, at times copying her mother's bird-like portions until her father snapped at her not to be so bloody silly and at others squirreled away chocolate and other treats to use as a bargaining tool when television programmes clashed. Now, she picked up each variety of candy, peered at it curiously, and then turned to Ron, who was vigorously enjoying his dry sandwich for confirmation of its goodness or a warning.

"You're right," Daisy said approvingly after her first bite of the so-called Cauldron Cakes. "These _are_ amazing. Beats Mr Kipling's cakes any day. What are you trying next Harry?"

"Might try these beans," Harry said reaching into the small pile, and pulling out a small striped carton, and surveying the contents. "Aren't these just normal jelly beans?"

"Pretty normal if Muggles have every flavour jelly beans as well," Ron answered. "And by every flavour, they mean _every_ flavour. You want to be careful with those. Fred and George swear they once got a bogey flavoured one once."

"How would they know what bogey tastes like?" Harry asked as he reached into the box and pulled out a red one. Biting a corner, he was satisfied with red pepper. Well, it was a bit strange to be eating a vegetable-tasting sweet, but a sweet was a sweet. "Do they eat bogeys?"

"Well, I never thought of it like that. Now you mention it though…"

"Let's see what I get,' Daisy said, reaching forward into the box. She pulled out a bright blue bean, and put the entire thing in her mouth without second thought. "Urghhh, tastes like washing up liquid. Let's see what Ron gets."

A veteran consumer of the beans, Ron was able to avoid the usually obvious traps, and get a benign fresh strawberry flavoured one. After falling on two more disgusting beans, Daisy decided she didn't like the beans very much and told Ron to eat her share, reaching into the pile once more. She gave a little shriek as the sugar mouse she'd been looking at suddenly moved in its wrapping. She picked up a similar chocolate frog that Ron was explaining with a very sour look on his face (he'd just bitten into a very bitter lime bean).

"… but the best part of it is the card. You collect them and trade them with other people to get the cards you want. I'll have a look in my collection when we get to Hogwarts if you want – got plenty of doubles I wouldn't mind sharing. Oi, careful! They…bounce."

Not having listened to Ron's warnings about the frogs being charmed to imitate the movement of their non-chocolate counterparts, Daisy had simply watched as her treat jumped away from her and headed for the open carriage door. What they did not expect was for someone to jump after it crying "Trevor!" The round faced boy certainly looked disappointed when he opened up his cupped hands to find that he was holding a chocolate frog.

"Second time that's happened," he mumbled as he got up. He held out the chocolate frog. "Whose frog is this?"

"Mine," Daisy said. "But you can have it if you want. Who's Trevor?"

"My toad. I've lost him somewhere and I just can't seem to find him."

"Have you tried sitting still and waiting for him to bounce back or people to ask if anyone's lost a toad? It might be an idea. You're welcome to join us if you want – you caught my frog after all."

"O-okay. Thank you." He took a seat next to Daisy, introducing himself as he did so. "I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom."

"Daisy Dursley, that's Ron Weasley and this is my cousin Harry Potter."

Neville's reaction didn't disappoint. Brown eyes grew wide as he stammered. "H-h-h-harry Potter? _The_ Harry Potter?" Harry nodded, moving aside his fringe so his scar was visible. "Wow. My Gran's told me all about you."

"Well, everyone seems to know a lot about me," Harry laughed nervously, uncomfortable under the curious awe Neville bestowed onto him. He reached instead for the closest thing he could find and held it in front of him. "Sweet?"

"So what are you?" Daisy asked, settling back with a Cauldron Cake. Having tested all the sweets, she and Harry had reached an unanimous decision to share the sweets out amongst them all. They weren't going to finish the lot between the two of them, and it would be rude to try and do so without offering their train companions the possibility to join them on this quest for stomach aches. Neville gave her a confused look. "Muggle-born or from a long line of Gryffindors like this one over here?"

"Oh right," Neville said, chewing on his Liquorice Stick pensively. "Well, my parents were in Gryffindor, and my Gran's always hoping I'll follow in their footsteps. Few Ravenclaw here and there… I think I've got a Hufflepuff uncle somewhere. I don't really want to end up in Hufflepuff though. And definitely not Slytherin."

Daisy was surprised by the dark look that appeared on the boy's face at just the thought of being placed in Slytherin. "What's wrong with Hufflepuff or Slytherin?"

"Fred and George say Hufflepuff is full of duffers," Ron explained. "And _everyone_ knows there's not a single witch or wizard that's gone through Slytherin that hasn't been bad."

"Well I think you're wrong," Daisy huffed. "Professor Snape is Head of Slytherin and he seems like a perfectly decent man – well, alright, he was a bit snappish, but so is Mum on a bad day - and I read somewhere that Slytherins are what hold the wizarding society together. They give loads of money to good causes, hold a lot of important posts in the Ministry or they're like Healers and stuff."

Ron pulled a face. "Who wants to be Healers or Ministry workers? Charlie works with _dragons_ in Romania, and Bill is a _curse breaker_ for Gringotts – he's been all over the place! Besides, if all you want to do is work for the Ministry, don't need to go to Slytherin for that. Percy wants to be Minister for Magic one day, and _he's_ a Gryffindor."

"Well not everyone can go into one House, can they? Otherwise, from the sounds of it there'd only be two Houses that actually had students, Gryffindor being the biggest."

"Keep your hair on. I know not _everyone_ wants to go into Gryffindor." He turned to the boy sitting next to him. "Where do you want to go Harry?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "Gryffindor does sound pretty neat, but you can't really know until you get there, can you? Maybe Daisy's right – maybe Slytherin's not that bad after all."

"But Slytherin was where You-Know-Who went," Neville mumbled absentmindedly, turning bright red as everyone turned to look at him. Daisy and Harry had been unaware of this fact, and were caught by surprise. Certainly put a spanner in Daisy's theory and reinforced 'everyone's' outlook on Slytherin.

Daisy spoke first. "Well, Gryffindor for all of us it is. It's the next best thing."

"Are you _completely_ mental?" Ron exclaimed, beginning to come to the conclusion that she might just be. "_It's the next best thing_! As if Slytherin had been the best choice in the first place!"

"_Clearly_ she's the only one with any sense."

The boy from the platform appeared at the open door, flanked by two thickset boys, inviting himself in, and giving Ron and Neville a look of disdain. Granted Ron did have a bit of dirt on his nose that no one in the carriage had felt the need to tell him about and Neville was the walking definition of dishevelled. Again, no one had felt the need to tell him he had buttoned up his cardigan all wrong.

"Who are you?" Ron asked, shooting back the look.

"Draco, Draco Malfoy." Ron barely held back a snort at the name. "You think my name is funny? No need to ask who you are. Red hair, freckles and ill-fitting clothes – you reek of Weasley." He looked back around the compartment as if expecting to see someone else. "Where's your brother gone?"

"Home, probably," Daisy shrugged, unsure why he cared. "He doesn't start school until later in the week." At his confused look, Daisy realised what he must have thought. "He's a Muggle you know."

"Oh, right." Apparently he hadn't known that Muggleborns didn't necessarily have magical siblings either. "What are you doing with these two then? A Weasley and a toad boy are hardly fitting company for an aspiring Slytherin and the Boy-Who-Lived."

"I thought you didn't like _girls_," Harry said, wary of this Malfoy character. His father had given off this strange vibe, and Aunt Petunia certainly hadn't taken a liking to him.

A pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks at the memory of his earlier slip up. He could still feel his father's grip on his shoulder. "I could…learn to. Some things can be overlooked. The offer still stands Potter. Come sit with me and the boys – your cousin being more than welcome - and I'll make sure you get acquainted with the better wizarding families. After all, you're judged by the company you keep, and you don't want to be making friends with the wrong sort."

Perhaps he expected Harry to be suddenly awed by this proposal and to rise immediately, bringing Daisy with, for when nothing of the sort happened he seemed highly surprised behind the sneer that twisted his thin face.

Harry looked at him with the same look of contempt Draco had given Ron as he entered.

"I can tell the wrong sort for myself thank you."

"Suit yourself. But be warned Potter, who you're friends with is the difference between life and death. Your parents had to learn that the hard way."

* * *

"Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere!"

Ron, Harry, Neville and Daisy, now kitted in their Hogwarts robes moved through the throngs of disembarking students towards the booming giant, who was calling for them. Once a group of forty odd students had made their way towards him, he gestured a large hand down a little path, where they could see shimmering body of water, whereupon a dozen rowing boats hovered near the edge, apparently waiting to be climbed into. There were a few cries of exclamation as they rounded a bend and caught their first glance of the castle that would be their home for the next seven years of their lives.

"No more'n four on a boat! On you get, on you get.."

The quartet that had formed on the train clambered into a boat, Neville almost toppling over the side as he did so. Harry saw Draco getting into a boat with Crabbe, Goyle, and a small dark-haired boy who just about fit into the leftover space in the boat. He wondered briefly if in another universe he'd be the one joining them, heading to the castle thinking Slytherin really wasn't that bad a place. As it stood, he'd be glad to go anywhere where the Malfoy boy wasn't. Daisy thought it was a strange way to get students to a school, especially when they had magic, but when she saw the magnificent castle looming ahead, she began to understand that maybe the only way to truly appreciate it would be to slowly glide towards it in boats. It was breath-taking, she had never seen anything quite like it in her life so far, with its many towers and turrets, illuminated in the dark sky by the countless of windows shining welcoming light. It was straight out of fairy tales. Never in her life had she imagined that she would be ducking her head to avoid a curtain of ivy, clambering out of boats onto the shore, pulling a face as the dark-haired boy who had been with Malfoy ejected the food trolley goods he had consumed or following a man who was _surely_ a giant across wet grass as Neville next to her tried to stop Trevor's fresh bid for freedom.

A knock on the large wooden door revealed a tall black-haired witch in emerald green robes, the Professor McGonagall that sent their letters. Daisy was vaguely reminded of Madame Celine, the seemingly ageless ballet instructor with the painfully upright posture and the sharp words that never served to sting but to command innate respect. She had been a good teacher. '_When you first came to me, you were an irritating little brat with two left feet, and now you are an irritating little brat that I am proud to call my student_,' she would say at the end of recitals, helping to sooth Daisy's aching feet. '_Now, only those with the Eye can see that you were not born to dance_.'

As they filed into a side chamber, Daisy felt the first pangs of homesickness.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor and Transfiguration teacher here at Hogwarts. The Sorting Ceremony will commence in a few moments. It symbolises the start of your Hogwarts career, where your placement in either Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw will shape the remainder of your time here. Each house, with its rich and noble history has produced outstanding witches and wizards; each of you standing before me should strive to be a credit to whichever your House is. I will return in a few moments to take you into the Great Hall. I suggest that some of you take this moment to smarten up."

With that she left the chamber. The first years were mostly silent taking in their surroundings, some of them chattering between themselves, discussing what they thought was going to happen next.

"I wonder how they sort you into Houses," Ron mused. "Fred and George said that you have to fight some sort of duel with a troll. Only problem is I don't know any spells!" Harry and Daisy looked at each other; Harry kept his mirth to a mere chuckle, whereas Daisy burst out laughing. "What's so funny? It's not funny! I'm gonna look like a right moppet and end up in Hufflepuff."

"I'd rather you not be in Hufflepuff if you actually think we have to fight a troll," a blonde girl stood next to them sniffed, unimpressed by Ron.

"Of course you don't fight a troll to get Sorted!" Daisy declared, drawing everyone's attention. She resisted the urge to tell him that he was an idiot for listening to anything his brothers said. Most of the things Dudley tried to tell her she responded with 'That's stupid'. It wasn't like _he_ ever listened to anything _she_ said. Ron's ears went a shade of red to match his ears. "There's a Sorting Hat which sorts you into the Houses. That's why Professor McGonagall said it was a _Sorting_ Ceremony."

"Well, well, Weasley," came the familiar high pitched drawl. Everyone turned to look at Draco Malfoy. "Looks like the Muggleborn knows more than you do, and you're supposed to be a wizard."

"I'm Muggleborn and _I_ didn't know that," a bushy-haired girl spoke up. "_Hogwarts: A History_ doesn't mention anything about a Hat - I don't see how you could have possibly known that."

"I didn't get the information from _Hogwarts: A History_," Daisy shrugged, unable to help the smug smile that crept onto her features.

Before the girl could ask her to elaborate, there were shrieks of surprise. Above their heads, around two dozen translucent beings were sweeping in and out of the small room, deep in conversation, some swooping down to their level to converse with them.

"Hello, hello! Welcome to Hogwarts!" a fat little monk greeted, his protruding stomach moving jovially. "I'm the Fat Friar, Hufflepuff ghost. I hope to see some of you very soon."

"Oi Weasley, they probably won't be able to Sort you," Draco taunted, as the ghost passed through the wall once more. "They'll probably end up realising you're a Squib and send you back on the train!"

Ron opened his mouth to retaliate, but could not before McGonagall called them forward, leading them out of the small room, across the entrance hall, and through a set of double doors, into what they would come to call the Great Hall. No matter how extensively the books described it, it was no replacement for the actual sight, the enchanted sky ever the more magical once you were in the room. Thousands and thousands of candles lit the room, hovering over four long tables where students where sat in their respective houses. Up at the front of the Hall, where there was a long line of teachers, was a stool with the greying old Sorting Hat perched on top of it.

As the Sorting Hat began to sing describing the different Houses, Daisy began to fidget. She knew she had decided that they would all end up in Gryffindor, especially after Malfoy's visit to their carriage had cemented their view that Slytherin was the worst house to be in, but what would happen if the Hat decided she belonged elsewhere? Did she even _want_ to be in Gryffindor? She wasn't brave. Maybe she would in Ravenclaw; she'd been in the top set throughout primary school and her place at Our Lady of Grace had been secured by her above average 11+ results, _and_ she liked reading, finding things out. But then, her father had never really liked her doing that – wasn't that why the first thing he'd done was take all her books away from her?

Daisy thought of her parents – where did they fit in the Hat's description? Her father was a hard-working man, a little short-tempered but he could be very loving if he wanted to. Hufflepuff then. Her mother, a Gryffindor maybe? It was pretty brave of her to take on the wizarding world with no help from Dad, and raising Dudley was not for the faint-hearted. Her Aunt Lily _must_ have been a Gryffindor, standing up to You-Know-Who all those years back. Daisy felt like she would throw up as students the Sorting began, Professor McGonagall inviting the first years to come forward, slip on the hat where it would call out their House and they could then amble to respective tables. For a moment she wondered if it was too late to go home, forget this whole thing ever happened. Then she heard her name. "Dursley, Daisy" She hoped that she would not trip on her way to the stool.

Daisy jumped as she heard a voice in her head, or rather, coming from the top of her head.

"_Hmm, what do we have here_?" the Hat said. "_Gryffindor? Yes you could fit in there, if you wanted to. A keen and ready mind…such fierce loyalty at the best of times, and you're not so lacking in bravery as you might think.._."

"So that's where you're going to send me?"

Daisy had not said those words out loud, and jumped again as the hat replied to her thought nonetheless.

"_I could, but would it be for the best? Hufflepuff would be just as happy to have you, and Ravenclaw would satisfy your need to know things – your father never need know. Have you ever considered...Slytherin_?"

"Slytherin? But I'm Muggleborn."

Her mind was filled with all that she'd read about the House as she admired the prestige, the influence, their general standing in society – how Salazar Slytherin had been said to despise Muggleborns more than he despised his Gryffindor rival, the rarity of seeing a Muggleborn in Slytherin…

"_I see, I see... But my dear, _Hogwarts_ welcomes all. And it has been awhile since I have come across a mind that has such great potential to succeed amongst Salazar's Snakes. You have made it this far, you could go further. Think about it. A Muggleborn excelling in Gryffindor is nothing new – your aunt was great witch. But a Muggleborn excelling in Slytherin...?"_

"I-I don't know. It was kind of nice being close to Harry – I don't want him to hate me because I'm in Slytherin."

"_Give our dear Mr Potter some credit. If he doesn't hate you now, I see no reason why he should hate you because of your House. I wish you the best of luck dear Daisy in_ – SLYTHERIN!"

Stunned, Daisy walked over to the applauding House clad in green and silver. Sitting down next to the girl who had been Sorted into Slytherin before her, who re-introduced herself as Tracey Davis, she returned her focus on the Sorting Ceremony. She wondered if all the people who sat nervously on the stool were having the same debate with the Hat as she had done. Did 'Finnegan, Seamus' talk the Hat out of placing him in Hufflepuff? Did the Hat tell 'Granger, Hermione' that she too had potential to succeed when he placed her in Gryffindor? Neville joined her, forgetting to take the Sorting Hat off as he walked to the house, turning red as laughter rang through the hall. There was no question about where 'Malfoy, Draco' was to be however. The Sorting Hat barely touched his head before he swaggered over to the table, an arrogant smirk on his face as though there had been no doubt of where he would end up. He flashed her a smile that she feebly returned.

When McGonagall called 'Potter, Harry' whispers spread across the Great Hall – 'Did she really say Harry Potter?' '_The_ Harry Potter?' 'Thought he'd be taller!' The Hat seemed to be perched on Harry's head for decades before shouting,

"GRYFFINDOR!"

There was a silence before the House in question erupted into loud cheers. Two boys, who even from the Slytherin table were instantly recognisable as Weasleys, stood up, shouting "WE GOT POTTER! We got Potter!", whilst the other Houses clapped politely. Daisy let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding in anticipation of her cousin's Sorting. She was happy for him; she saw him talking to Neville, and 'Weasley, Ron' soon joined him and the other Weasleys. And the Sorting Hat _had_ said that's where his mother had gone - he'd be really happy about that. Daisy just hoped the Hat was right about him not hating her. After all, she was sat in the House of his parent's murderer. But could you really judge a House by the students that had passed through it? As a lanky, dark-skinned boy came up to be Sorted, Daisy glanced up at the High Table. Professor Snape was her Head of House, and he did look distinctively Slytherin with his black robes and the seemingly permanent scowl on his face. Then again, it wasn't like Professor McGonagall was exactly oozing bravery; had Daisy not known better she'd have said that she was a Slytherin from looks alone. And the Headmaster, who looked like every bit like his Chocolate Frog card in bright spangled robes, with his welcoming demeanour would be placed in Hufflepuff.

Besides, Daisy consoled herself, she didn't need Harry's approval to be happy, popular and successful. She'd managed all the above just being herself. He wouldn't be so popular if he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived… She'd have to use that to her advantage. There was no way she was going to let him outshine her. _She_ was a Dursley.

So preoccupied with her thoughts, she barely responded to Dumbledore's odd words, the sudden appearance of food on the golden plates before them or the screeches from the blonde girl who had been Sorted shortly before Harry when the Slytherin house ghost floated up through the bowl of peas she was about to help herself to.

"Oi, cheer up firstie," said an older boy sitting next to her, passing her a bowl of potatoes. "It only gets better from here. You got Sorted into the best House at Hogwarts."

"She knows," Draco interjected before Daisy could speak. "Probably just wondering how she managed to convince the Sorting Hat to Sort her here. How _did_ you do it, Muggleborn?"

Daisy tried not to turn a beautiful shade of tomato as people turned to look at her.

"Muggleborn? In Slytherin?"

Some were looking at her like she was some abnormal creature. She tried to focus on helping herself to food even if her appetite was shot to pieces. She was not used to being the odd one out.

"Preposterous. Oi, Cleveley! This one here says there's a Muggleborn in Slytherin."

"There's not been a Muggleborn in Slytherin for what...a century?"

"There's no such thing."

Daisy felt others turning to look at her, as debates about the existence of Muggleborns in Slytherin sprang up, and she struggled not to shrink into herself.

"Are you sure you're not a Squib?"

"No, I'm not a Squib, or I wouldn't have any magic," Daisy snapped, mentally thanking Ron for having filled her in on this particular terminology. "I am a witch, born from Muggle parents and the Sorting Hat placed me in Slytherin because it thought I'd be just as good as any of you."

An older girl sitting across from her sniffed dismissively. "I highly doubt that Muggleborn."

"Well," the boy next to her reasoned. "The Sorting Hat has been known to make mistakes."

"The Sorting Hat _didn't_ make a mistake," Daisy countered. "I _wanted_ to be here and if the Sorting Hat didn't think I could more than handle it, it'd have – it'd have Sorted me into Hufflepuff. Could you pass me the juice please?"

Daisy tried not to let on her surprise when she found herself to be drinking something that was not the apple juice she had thought it to be. She was going to prove herself if it killed her and her taste buds.

* * *

_**A/N**__: So we are back to where I left off! One thing that I was always certain during my Redo, it was that Daisy was going to be a Slytherin, and that Malfoy was to out her as a Muggleborn. I'm loving the response I'm getting to the story – it means a lot to hear what you guys think, so thank you! _

_'Specially happy about the positive response to my Dursleys. Will I do something to Slytherin? Probably. Problem is they're a tricky thing, Slytherins. They're one of the reasons I had to start over. It's hard to find a balance between 'We're really just a bunch of Gryffindors with green and silver ties' Slytherins and 'We'll kill you all in your sleep' Slytherins. And I find myself edging towards the latter...  
_

_Slower updates from now on – I'm sporadic at best, but I won't abandon this like last time. I'll do my best to keep it weekly. As always, thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated! _


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter 6  
**

Having helped herself to one too many slices of strawberry cheesecake washed down with what she had learned over the course of the feast was pumpkin juice (an acquired taste if anything), Daisy felt unusually heavy as she followed a Prefect down to their Common Room. They made their way across the Entrance Hall and down a set of stone stairs leading to the dungeons, Daisy looking forward to the moment when she would be able to put her head to pillow and sleep. The corridors were winding and dark, lit only by torches that hung on the wall casting ominous shadows, their footsteps loud against the stone. Daisy tried to pay attention but she knew that even if she retained the password '_Draco Dormiens_' she'd never find that particular wall where the password was to be uttered in the first place. Emerging from the passageway, the Common Room did not prove that much more inviting.

_Well, they like to stick to their themes_, Daisy thought as she looked around the low-ceilinged room. Green drapes hung from the walls above the dozens of fireplaces that were there in a desperate attempt to keep the chill out; the low-backed black leather chairs scattered about the room were occupied by older students chatting amongst themselves under the green glow of the torches and lamps that floated above their heads and the desks near large stained glassed windows depicting their house emblem, that despite the time of night seemed to have a greenish tint.

Admittedly, there was a cold grandeur to it all.

Sitting down on the cushions that had been conjured for them, Daisy tried not to fall asleep as students continued to trickle in. It wasn't clear what they were waiting for until their Head of House stalked in, and sat down in the elegant black chair that had up until now been unoccupied. He fixed his students with those dark eyes, and though he did not raise his voice, or seem to do anything spectacular, his words managed to pierce Daisy's food induced bubble.

"Others may view us in a dark light, using events from the past to colour this noble House, but every year we strive to show them that they are very much mistaken. We Slytherins endeavour to do our very best – I expect only the highest grades from my House, woe betide anyone who thinks they will be able to slack and avoid _severe_ repercussions. Other Houses will seek to inflame rivalries, taunt you into retaliation, but you must not do so. At least walk away until you are certain of your abilities to do so without being caught by other teachers. It goes without saying that whilst I will not encourage attacks on other Houses, I will not strip you of your rights to defend yourself."

"You may or may not know, that this year we have a Muggleborn in our midst. I expect you all to welcome her, for even the greatest of wizards, such as the great Salazar Slytherin who founded this House, make mistakes. A witch or wizard, no matter their background, has the power to ascend to great places – I have been alive long enough to know that this is true. This House is kept strong by its cooperation, its ability to talk to one another and offer support when it is needed. Loyalty, bravery and intelligence is not solely for Hufflepuff, Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. We hold all these qualities. The only difference is, we know how to use them, and use them well."

Older years clapped, and soon the Common Room was filled with applause for their Head of House. Daisy clapped louder than she might have done had he not offered her his implicit protection by his open acknowledgement of her. One look from Snape and clapping ceased, allowing him to continue his introductory speech.

"I, unlike another Head of House I shall not mention, like to keep close tabs on my students to ensure you are not turning into unmanageable idiots, particularly in their defining years. First Years, Third Years, Fifth Years and Seventh Years will meet with me once per term, whilst the rest of you will see me at the end of the year to review your year and set goals for the upcoming year. If there are any problems at any time which cannot be resolved through consultation with the Prefects, if not in one of the dungeons, I can be found in my office, or owl to arrange a meeting if necessary."

"I hope to see the House Trophy with our name upon it this year for the seventh year running, and as the Headmaster mentioned, Quidditch trials will be held in the second week. It will not do us any harm to add the Quidditch title to our name this year. That is all I have to say. Goodnight."

With a billow of his robes, he was gone.

"First year girls, follow me please."

Daisy followed the brunette Prefect towards the spiralling stone stairs on the left, ignoring the looks she received, people making no attempts to whisper as they talked about her '_Yeah, she's the Muggleborn'_ . The older boy with who had been sat next to her during the Welcoming Feast led the boys to the staircase to the right. Finally, there was somewhere in the dungeons that made some sort of effort to be welcoming. Though still in keeping with the green and silver House colours, the dormitory was so much warmer in its decorative style and the five four poster beds called their weary heads.

"Bathroom is through that door over there," the Prefect said, pointing to the only other door in the large room. "Timetables will be available tomorrow by the noticeboard, make sure you leave enough time to pick one up and to have breakfast. The latest you should be down is eight. Any problem you should have, address them to me, Prefect Wilcock. Dursley, a word please?"

Daisy followed her back out of the dormitory wondering what this could be about. "Look, I know how bitchy girls can be, especially cliquey Society girls who think the most important thing in life is being inbred, but whatever you do, don't let them get to you. My grandmother being a Muggle doesn't stop me from being Prefect, Captain of the Gobstones Team and best Transfiguration student in my year – hold your head up, and if they start putting itching powder in your sheets and stuff like that, come to me and I'll put them straight."

"I will," Daisy nodded, glad to have an older year on her side. "Thank you."

Wilcock smiled. "It's my job. Sleep well, Dursley."

Daisy returned to a dispute between two of her roommates. From what she gathered, the dark haired girl with the squashed nose wasn't happy with where her trunk had been placed – in the middle of the three beds on the right side of the room – and was arguing with the redhead that it was a mistake, and she had a "right" to be closer to the window.

"I'm a _Parkinson_," the dark haired whined.

"And so?" the redhead snapped. "I'm a Greengrass – we're just as good as your family. Just because your father's all friendly with the Malfoys again doesn't-"

"_And_ you're forgetting that we hosted the Summer Society Ball, which if I'm not mistaken, your family has even hosted yet."

"We host plenty of balls on the Continent."

"Well then _maybe_ you should have gone to Beauxbatons."

"If I'd remembered how annoying you can be when we replied to my Hogwarts letter Pansy," Greengrass snapped, beginning to manoeuvre the trunks, having decided she was too tired for this, "trust me - I would have joined Clara at Beauxbatons."

The other three girls who had been silently watching as they took longer than it would have normally taken to look for wash things and night wear, picked up the pace a little thinking that the conversation had finally come to an end now Greengrass had dragged her trunk to the middle bed and proceeded to get ready for bed. Pansy cleared her voice. Apparently not.

"What is it now, Pansy?" Greengrass sighed.

"You haven't put my trunk at the foot of the bed," Parkinson said, glaring pointedly at the spot where her trunk had been shoved away from its previous position. "Don't give me that look Daphne. I don't know about you, but in _my_ family, we have house elves to do things like that for us."

"And do I _look_ like a house elf to you?"

Pansy clicked her tongue as Daphne flounced off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her as she did so. Tracey Davis had already had the sense to disappear into her curtains; whether she was asleep or not, did not matter. She had avoided the need to try and avoid Parkinson's gaze as she stood by her newly claimed bed, arms crossed and pouting – which is what Daisy, who was contemplating just getting dressed behind the curtains of her new bed and not brushing her teeth, and the stocky girl with the coarse black hair, who had been rooting for something for the past ten minutes, were doing.

"Bullstrode," Parkinson said after a moment of weighing up her options. "Move my trunk for me. I'm sure you've had enough experience doing…_manual_ things. And of course, you're so… _big boned_ it'll be no trouble at all for you."

The girl in question had frozen.

For a moment Daisy thought she might snap something like Daphne or simply ignore the pouting brunette but instead she sighed, and did as she had, not even been asked but _told_ to do. Parkinson did not even thank her, instead gathering her things from her expensive looking trunk with some sort of crest, and following her friend into the bathroom.

"Why did you do it?" Daisy asked, as she and Bullstrode waited for the other two to return.

She shrugged. "It's easier that way. I've known Parkinson since I was five – it's easier to stay in her good books."

"But what about-"

"Daphne?" The girl snorted. "She's a fellow Pureblood. Pansy just has the superiority complex that comes with coming from a Noble House that can boast a near century of Blood Purity. Whereas _I_ have a Muggle father." She held out her hand. "I'm Millicent, by the way. Millicent Bullstrode."

Daisy shook her hand, surprised by its strong grip. "Daisy Dursley. But why did she ask you then? She could have asked me – I'm the Muggleborn."

"And would you have done it?"

"No."

"Exactly – she's a cow, but she's not stupid. She saw you standing up to people during the feast, and didn't want a massive fight over a trunk with Daphne and Tracey not even there to back her up. But Big Boned Bullstrode with the Muggle father is bound to help. She'd make my life miserable otherwise. She always does, but I don't need to give her reason to."

"But why?"

"Don't worry," Millicent said, getting up as the bathroom door opened to let out giggling pyjama clad duo. "You'll see soon enough."

The girls brushed their teeth in silence. Daisy was glad she was with Millicent who only laughed a little when she screamed. Her reflection was… it was _talking_ to her! Reflections didn't talk. Reflections were supposed to just reflect your image, and failing that, point out the existence of vampires by their lack of existence. Not point out that you had a bit of toothpaste on your nightie.

"You'll get used to it," Millicent told her sympathetically. "Just try not to scream next time."

As Daisy got into the sheets, toes curling at the coolness, she found herself unable to sleep despite the nagging tiredness behind her eyes. She was trying to figure out what exactly the Sorting Hat had let her in for.

* * *

Daisy awoke to voices.

She didn't know when she'd fallen asleep, and a slight panic swept through her as she realised that upon opening her eyes she was not met with pink walls and the bars of her bunk bed, but with green silver lined sheets and light streaming in through the gaps of the green velvet hanging of her four poster bed. She was no longer at 4 Privet Drive – no, she was currently in a dormitory somewhere in some massive castle probably far away from the one person she knew and in a House where half the people thought she was either a mistake or mistaken about her lineage.

"Which do you think is better?" Pansy was asking, as Daisy shuffled out of her bed, holding a green ribbon and a white ribbon out to Daphne, who was sitting on her trunk tying prim black lace up boots.

"The white," Tracey said, from where she was fixing a black Alice band into her own curly dark blonde hair. "It'll go so much better with your hair."

"You would say that, wouldn't you Davis?" Daphne said, rolling her eyes. "She's not five anymore. We're in Slytherin now – it's all about the green, no question asked. Obviously you wouldn't know that, your mother being foreign." Daphne turned sharp green eyes on Daisy. "You'd better hurry up, you know. In the wizarding world, we try and make good impressions."

"Thanks," Daisy smiled coldly. "I'll bear that in mind."

Thankfully, the girls were gone by the time Daisy had managed to brush the knots out of her hair and remember how her father had once taught her to tie a tie – well, the silver and green tie she'd found neatly laid out on her trunk along with the rest of her uniform wasn't quite as neat as she might have liked but it would have to do. It was better than Millicent's anyway, who was much more concerned with trying to get her hair into something acceptable.

"Here," Daisy said, holding out her hand. "Let me help. Your hair's just like Harry's. I swear, it never sits still, but at least yours is long enough to be put in a ponytail."

During her time staring into the darkness of her new bed the previous night, Daisy had come to the conclusion that she needed Millicent Bullstrode's friendship. The dormitory had placed a natural divide between them and the other three, who Daisy supposed were the cliquey Society girls Wilcock had warned her about (whatever Society girls even were), and the Muggle heritage had given them a natural bond. The mirror incident last night had revealed that there were a lot of things Daisy did not know, that she could not just _read_ about – she needed someone who was familiar with the wizarding world but would understand her. And Millicent, who thanked her warmly as she looked in the mirror at her now relatively tamed hair, would be such a person.

While Petunia and Vernon Dursley thought that their pumpkins were popular because they were brilliant children who no one would pass up the chance not to be acquainted to – after all, Dudley was a jovial, spirited youth and Daisy as pretty as she was kind and generous – in reality, the Dursley son bullied his way to popularity, attracting equally horrible boys behind him seeking protection, and Daisy had a knack for making friends with the right people in order to get to the top. And once there… Her pumpkin juice acquired a bitter taste at the realisation that only two months ago she'd been the Pansy Parkinson of Stonewall Primary.

* * *

During that first week as a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Daisy learnt a quite a few things.

She learnt that her mother had had reason to scoff when she'd promised to write every day. Putting aside the problem of actually _finding_ the Owlery without finding yourself deviated onto some unknown path by moving staircases and floors that seemed to alter your sense of direction if you were not careful, Daisy found that she had very little time to actually sit down and write. Had it not been for the basic map of the castle provided on the back of their timetables, most of the Slytherin first years would have been like their Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw counterparts running into classrooms late when they weren't accompanied by a kind older student who had happened to be going in the same direction.

Daisy learnt that whilst she had been at the top of her class in the Muggle world, Ravenclaws gave an entirely different name to bookworms. Hands shot up or answers were given before Daisy even had time to digest the question or wonder when they'd had the time to read that far ahead _and_ memorise it. She was secretly glad that the Sorting Hat had not placed her in Ravenclaw; sitting behind Kevin Entwhistle and Anthony Goldstein you would think that they spoke of nothing else but their work. And she was particularly grateful not to have been Sorted in Hufflepuff; wearing the black and yellow tie was enough reason for a snide comment from her House. Hannah Abbot had held her head high during Herbology as Pansy and Daphne all but cackled at her unfortunate accident involving dragon dung but Zacharias Smith earned a loss of five points from Professor McGonagall when he turned around and snapped something particularly rude in retaliation to Nott's jibe at the eyebrow he'd singed in an attempt to turn his match into a needle.

Not that any Pureblood in her House did any better than their Muggleborn or Half-blood counterparts. Daisy learnt that apparently their pure blood made up for the fact that they could not yet name more than three constellations (Draco more only because his mother's family had a habit of naming members after stars) and that it was Terry Boot's explanation of Muggle vs. Wizard conception of zombies that was the most interesting thing during their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. For all their sneers and derisive noises, they couldn't deny that Professor Quirell was as useful as Professor Binns – and at least the ghost that taught History of Magic did not stutter his way through the textbook by way of teaching nor did he and his classroom smell strongly of garlic.

"It's not true you know," Malfoy was heard saying after Thursday afternoon's lesson. "Garlic doesn't ward off vampires. It's just unpleasant to them, like Father says its unpleasant for us to be around Mudbloods."

Pansy giggled appreciatively. "Do you think if I put garlic in my room it'll get rid of the stench of Mudblood?"

Besides her Millicent shook her head. Daisy gave her a questioning look. "What's a Mudblood?"

"It's a bad name for Muggleborns," Millicent explained. "Most of the Noble House Purebloods think like that – some don't even want Muggleborns at Hogwarts. I bet you anything they've all written home about you and are waiting for instructions on what to do next. A Muggleborn in Slytherin is really unusual."

Daisy had been right to befriend Millicent – or Bullstrode as she called her for the time being, until a proper enough time had passed before they could be on first name basis. She had a lot to learn about the world she had landed in, especially the complicated one that most of her Housemates were a part of, which in itself seemed to set itself apart from the rest of the wizarding world.

For example, no textbook could fully explain the social complexity of Blood Purity: there wasn't just _a_ Pureblood – there were different levels of Pureblood. At the top of the food chain were Noble House Purebloods whose forefathers had laid the foundations of the wizarding society, patriarchal lines who prided themselves on never having "contaminated" their line with Muggle blood (or so they claimed). They and the Generational Purebloods formed what was referred to as the Society, Generational Purebloods being those who could claim at least five unbroken generations of pure blood, obviously the higher the generations, the fuller the family vaults, the higher standing. And last, but not least, were the Purebloods by the Ministry-sanctioned (and much contested by the Noble Houses Purebloods) definition of the term: those with both grandparents born of wizarding blood, regardless of its "purity". If they then went to marry a Pureblood, it would mark the start of their generational line.

That was, of course, not counting the exceptions to the rule. One such exception was the Weasley family. More than once Daisy caught snatches of passing remarks concerning Ron's family: '_Merlin help me – Erica is having another child. You'd think my sister wanted to rival the Weasleys_' or '_Diagon Alley? Do I _look_ like a Weasley to you?_'. Millicent explained that they were considered blood traitors by most Purebloods because of their open association with Muggles and Muggleborns, which was used to explain their poverty, _and_, it was highly unusual for Purebloods to conceive more than three children. Any more was considered positively common, most usually content to have an heir and be done with it. And then there was her family.

"We're a matriarchal line," Millicent explained on Friday morning, as she allowed Daisy to attack her hair with a brush, Parkinson having cackled something about the Bullstrode looks. "It means that everything's passed down through the women in the family, and not the men. The rest of the families think we're a bit of an oddity, and tolerate us because you just don't mess with Bullstrode women."

"Parkinson seems to have missed that memo," Daisy said with a final brush. Where did people even get shampoo in the wizarding world? She imagined she was going to have some trouble replacing her Head & Shoulders. Owl order perhaps?

"It's because my Mum's stubborn and married a Muggle – even for us, it was a bit of a shock, and that's saying something. Aunt Griselda married a werewolf, but because he's a Pureblood the rest of the time, apparently it's alright." Millicent sighed, exhausted by the topic. "We should go to the Owlery after Potions. We've got the afternoon off."

Daisy agreed, and grabbing her book bag followed Millicent out of their dormitory. She was looking forward to Potions; she was quite curious to see her Head of House's teaching style and had not had a chance to do more than smile or wave in Harry's direction from across the Great Hall on the rare occasion when they caught each other's eye. Daisy (and Harry too, she gathered) had learnt that the Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry was one as old of time, and even if her Gryffindor cousin _was_ Harry Potter, something told her that she did not need to be a Muggleborn _and_ a Gryffindor "lover".

"Hey, Muggleborn – pass the eggs."

Daisy mentally gritted her teeth as she passed the requested dish to the seventh year. If it wasn't bad enough having to be called Dursley half the time, it was made even worse that ninety-five per cent of Slytherins had settled on merely calling her Muggleborn. At least no one was openly horrible to her, a combination of Snape's underlying threat of repercussions for those who did not welcome her as he had clearly requested, her relation to the Boy-Who-Lived and the simple fact that at least a third of Slytherins had some Muggle in them and it did not sit well with them to treat her like shit when they loved their dotty Muggle grandfathers. But as Millicent often insinuated, they had only been there one week – there was still plenty of time for it to get worse. There was no mention of it getting better.

Seeing Harry up close put a smile on Daisy's face. He sought her out as they lined up outside the Potions classroom. From the way his hair stuck out in all angles, he had yet to find something for the mass of dark hair that made Millicent's coarse locks seem tame, the knot in his tie was much too fat, and Daisy could see crumbs on his black robes with the Gryffindor crest, but none of that mattered because of the smile he offered her. She'd missed him.

"Bit creepy down here," he commented, eyes passing over the rough stone walls. "Are you coping alright?"

"It's great," Daisy smiled, conscious that most of her classmates were listening. "It's a lot better in the Common Room anyway. How's Gryffindor?"

"Absolutely brilliant. It's a shame you're not with us."

"Yeah well…" Daisy trailed off, gaze avoiding Harry's. Instead she looked for a distraction. "This is one of my roommates, Millicent Bullstrode. And this, as you probably know, is Harry Potter."

"Pleasure," Millicent smiled, shaking Harry's hand. Her letter home just got a little longer.

"We should meet up later," Harry offered as he turned back to Daisy. "We've all got the afternoon off, right?" Daisy nodded. "Excellent. Well, meet you around two in the Entrance Hall?"

Daisy nodded again. "Sounds good."

The end of their conversation signalled Snape's arrival, his black robes billowing about him as he strode past them to open the door. The Gryffindors took one side of the classroom and the Slytherins the other, settling down quickly under the Potions Master's cold gaze. Like Professor Flitwick he started the class by taking the register, as if first year students were really going to skip their first Potions lesson of their Hogwarts career. He briefly paused at Harry's name as if he had something to say, but quickly moved on, disappearing the register with a practised hand after Zabini voiced his presence.

Like he had in Start-of-year speech in the Slytherin Common Room, Snape quickly proved that he had a knack for capturing attention, keeping students on the edge of their seats as he spoke with an admiration for the subject he taught, and admiration that very few students sat before him would possibly come to understand. The bushy haired girl who had questioned her on her knowledge of the Sorting Hat was on the literal edge of seat, wanting to prove that she was not, as Snape so aptly put it, a dunderhead.

Daisy, who was wondering what pains the Granger mother must have gone through to get such frizzy hair in control, was amongst those who jumped when Snape suddenly turned his attention to Harry.

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

And nor was Harry the only one who looked confused at the question. Had this been a class with Ravenclaws, Goldstein would have probably given an answer, pushing up his neat square glasses as he did so, beating his classmates whose hands would have shot up faster than Granger's hand did.

"I don't know, sir," Harry replied.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Again Harry looked stumped. To Daisy's right, Millicent mumbled 'a goat's stomach' whilst behind her she could hear the sound of suppressed laughter. Turning slightly in her seat as Granger looked about ready to jump out of hers, she saw that Malfoy and the two boulders that went everywhere with him were shaking with laughter at Harry's inability to answer. Did this have something to do with the harsh exchange of words between her mother and the Professor as they left Eeylop's Owl Emporium?

"I don't know sir."

Daisy was willing to bet that the only person who knew with certainty the answers to his question was Granger, whose hand was quivering in its need to be answered. Professor Snape was doing a fine job of ignoring her. He tried again. "Surely Potter, you will know the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Millicent and Daisy exchanged looks as Granger stood up in her eagerness to answer. Granger was lucky – if Daisy had dared to make an idiot of herself like that, she'd never live it down. She could already hear Pansy's comments, always within earshot as if to make sure that Daisy knew what was said but at a distance where they could claim that Mudbloods were such eavesdroppers should she react to them.

"I'm sorry Professor," Harry shrugged. "I really don't know. I think Hermione does though – maybe you should try her."

As a few people laughed, Snape turned his gaze on her as if he had only just decided to deign her worthy of his attention. "Sit down," he snapped at Hermione, who deflated as he then proceeded to tell them the answers he had been expecting. Well, clearly Snape's style of teaching was ridiculous – how did he expect them to know that on their first lesson? Daisy only vaguely remembered reading about the Draught of Living Death and she'd done a lot more reading during the summer as Harry caught up on eleven years' worth of cartoons. "Well, why aren't you all copying it down?"

She was glad that she'd practised using a quill over August, especially if Snape expected them to copy everything down at lightning speed. She'd have to start reading ahead… just in case. Again she was glad of Millicent's friendship as it turned out her earlier whisper wasn't just a lucky guess. She moved with a grace that Daisy had not yet seen in her roommate, showing Daisy how best to crush the snake fangs and stopping her from adding way too many dried nettles.

"How are you so good at this?" Daisy asked they waited for their horned slugs to stew and turn the potion a pale yellow.

"Mum's a Potions Master," Millicent shrugged.

"Wow. Where does she teach?"

"She doesn't teach anywhere – you don't need to teach once you have a Mastery you know. Mum's mainly a researcher, wants to save the world or something. So I've always been around Potions."

Daisy didn't understand how Millicent could sit there so calmly when Snape was behind them praising Malfoy's potion that didn't look any better than Millicent's – it would have irritated her to no end if she knew for a fact she was better than the blond who smirked at the praise lavished on him. Granger's potion was probably better, given that the girl was some sort of misplaced Ravenclaw, but Snape seemed to have decided that the Gryffindor did not exist. Daisy's pondering of if this was related to her Blood Status was cut short.

Her more immediate concern was avoiding the acid green mess that was travelling from Neville's melted cauldron.

* * *

_Dear Mum,_

_Sorry I've not written until now, it's just been so hectic! _

_I miss you. Loads. And loads. I even miss Dudley, that's how much I miss home. How is he? Did he get his cast off or did he get to take it to Smeltings like he wanted to? How are you? Are you alright without me and Dudley around? Are you getting any more headaches? If you are, I can come home to look after you. If you want. I don't mind. _

_I got Sorted into Slytherin. It's not bad - I get to sleep in a four poster bed with real curtains, and there's always a fire going and the food is actually edible! Out of all my roommates, Millicent Bullstrode is the loveliest. Her Dad's a Muggle so we also have something in common. It turns out that Malfoy __really__ doesn't like girls, but he doesn't have a choice but to get used to me. I wish we could somehow get Dad and Draco's dad in a room. I think they'd have a lot to say to each other. _

_Classes are interesting, though I'm not sure about all the teachers. One of them – Professor Quirell – wears a turban and smells of garlic, and spends the lesson reading out the textbooks. Apparently he went to do research in Albania and returned all funny. Maybe his turban is tied too tightly. Professor Binns is a ghost – well that explains itself. And then there's Professor Snape. Did you two have an argument? He's a lot snappier than he was, especially with Harry. Is it because he's a Gryffindor? I don't know; everything in this world is so complicated and strange. _

_I really do miss you._

_Lots of love,_

_Daisy_

* * *

"I just…I don't understand. He seemed alright in Diagon Alley."

Harry and Daisy were talking a walk around the lake taking full advantage of the last of the kind weather. Already the wind was growing harsher under the sun's warmth. Harry was still confused at Snape's rather sudden borderline hatred of him; he'd done nothing wrong. He'd asked his fellow first years over lunch – none of them would have been able to answer, except Hermione, but she did nothing else but read. And _how_ was it his fault that Neville had added porcupine quills in at the wrong time? If It was anyone's fault, it was Snape's fault for being a lousy teacher.

"Him and Mum argued… I think," Daisy mused, pulling her cloak a little tighter around her. "It was about Hedwig or something."

"It was about that letter," Harry said, shaking his head. He'd noticed a lot more whilst Daisy had been in her sulk. "They all knew each other before – somehow. And something…I don't what, happened between my mum, your Mum and Professor Snape. If it was just a silly argument, he'd have taken it out on both of us."

Daisy shook her head. "He wouldn't even if he wanted to. I'm in his House so even if he hated me… It's complicated."

"Is everything alright in Slytherin? I mean…really." Harry had not failed to notice the dark look and the furrow of Daisy's brow, or the way she looked away to look at the surface of the lake. "Daisy?"

"Our Common Room's right under the lake you know," she smiled, peering at the still surface. "The older years swear the Giant Squid goes by all the time, but we've not seen him yet. It's fine, Harry. I'm not the Boy-Who-Lived, but I do alright. Bullstrode helps a lot."

"Why do you call her by her surname?" Harry had taken the hint. She didn't want to talk about it, and Harry didn't want to push. He quite liked when they could just talk, as if they'd been close for years. In all the unfamiliarity of the new setting, having someone who'd been around since he could remember was comforting.

"Because it's _improper_ not to. Honestly Harry, you'd have sucked as a Slytherin."

"Well, thank goodness I didn't listen to the Hat," he grinned, nudging into her playfully. "Thought I'd do well in Slytherin – something about my true friends."

"Well, you missed out."

As they moved on to the safer topic of classes, like if she wouldn't mind passing him her notes in History of Magic one of these days because he and Ron usually ended up playing Hangman, Daisy found herself wishing that she'd taken a leaf out of Harry's book and not listened to the Sorting Hat either. Waving as he and Ron made their way to the hut that was the known home to Hagrid the Groundskeeper, she almost did not want to make her way across the Entrance Hall, down the stone stairs, through the labyrinthine corridors and back to her Common Room.

_Muggleborn, Muggleborn, Muggleborn_.

_Mudblood_.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. She could do this.

* * *

_Dear Daisy,_

_I miss you too – more than words can express. _

_After your father and I dropped Dudley off at Smeltings, thankfully without that horrid thing on his arm, the house felt empty. I turn on the television when I'm making tea just to pretend that you're all still here watching cartoons that I'm sure you've seen a million times before. Your brother's not written to me yet, but I sent him a care package and I'm sure I'll get a thank you note back soon also telling me that he's fine. He can come back during the weekends if he likes, but during the first few months they say it's best not to lest they should miss an opportunity to hit each other with those sticks. _

_Congratulations on your Sorting into Slytherin. I won't pretend I'm not a little worried about you; not only being in such close proximity to Malfoy, but also being under Severus' Snape's supposed care. If any of them step out of line, you tell me right away and we'll find somewhere else for you. We're not paying for you to be miserable, is that understood? I imagine that Harry's happy to be in Gryffindor – it was his parents' House, and probably explains why Professor Snape might have grown a little hostile. James Potter and he were certainly not what you would call the best of friends. _

_Otherwise I am well. Your father is busy with work – it's not easy for him with two tuition fees to pay - but I can tell he misses you, both you and Dudley. You're his little girl. _

_Lots of love,_

_Mummy_

"What's that?"

Daisy looked up from the letter than the school barn owl had just returned, trying not to glare as she met Pansy's gaze. As Millicent had warned more than once, Parkinson liked to push buttons and she would carry on until she found the right one, and because of her status, she knew that whatever the consequences, Mummy and Daddy would be right there to clear it all up. Daisy found Millicent's bitterness both refreshing and sad – she'd never had a friend like that before.

"It's a letter from home," Daisy answered, folding it up and placing it back in the envelope, still attached to the package she knew to contain her own care package.

"I know _that_ but what is it written on?"

"It's called paper."

"But why does it have lines all over it?"

"Because it's lined paper."

"I didn't know Muggles were so thick they had to invent cheap parchment that has lines on it for them," she sniffed. "Grandmother says they've not done anything _proper_ since the Statute of Secrecy separated us from them."

"Father always says that the Statute of Secrecy doesn't go nearly far enough," Daphne agreed as she sipped on her tea. "But it's better over here in Britain. Apparently, there are some Ministries who are so lax about it all that they let vampires and all sorts of magical half breeds and Muggles wander amongst our kind."

"When Draco's Minister for Magic, he'll be sure to make sure all half breeds are kept out of our community. Won't you, Draco?"

And though her words were directed at Draco who looked displeased to be interrupted during his third retelling of his near-death experience involving his Comet Two-Sixty – 'Much better than you're old Cleansweep, Nott' – and a Muggle helicopter – 'It's a metallic beast with razor sharp circling wings, that allows Muggles to sit in its belly' – Daisy felt Pansy's cold eyes on her. Daisy just ignored her, buttering a piece of toast she had no desire to eat over and over again, until she was sure the girl had turned away. If anything, she had to commend Pansy on the number of ways she made sure to point out that Daisy was an outsider, that only peculiar circumstances allowed her to be tolerated.

* * *

"I don't get what the big deal is with Quidditch and flying," Millicent commented on Thursday afternoon as the Slytherin first years made their way across the smooth lawn of the Hogwarts grounds on their way. No one, not even Professor Quirell, had seemed upset or particularly concerned for his students' learning as he cut his lesson half an hour short to make room for their flying lessons. "Dad's absolutely mental about it."

"Muggles can fly brooms?" Daisy asked, keeping her voice low lest someone was waiting to catch her in her ignorance which, given the circumstances, she had been hiding very well thus far. Where Millicent didn't know, which was surprisingly rare, there was an entire library at her disposal.

"No, not on their own anyway. He just likes to follow the matches and stuff. I think it makes him feel like he's a part of our world. He's been a Puddlemere United fan since he and Mum got married – it's absolutely ridiculous. He'll paint his face and everything, and he'll Portkey even if it makes him violently sick each time. And when the World Cup comes around…" Millicent sighed and shook her head. "He's probably why I care so little about it all."

Suddenly the prospect of flying lessons was more exciting for Daisy than it had been before. It was something even her father could get involved in. That was the great thing about sports wasn't it? You didn't need to be able to play it to enjoy it. Daisy had already decided she was going to be on the Quidditch Team. Her research into the school's extracurricular activities had shown her that very few of the clubs were ever active longer than the lifetime of the one enthusiastic member who revived it. Well, there was the Gobstones club, but it was only popular because it also served as some sort of inter-House networking opportunity, dominated by half-bloods, Charms Club had only _just_ started up again and last year's Transfiguration club had died with the graduation of McGonagall's Hufflepuff protégée and awaited resuscitation. Quidditch was the only thing whose popularity and presence had never wavered. So if she wanted to be popular, she was going to have to do all she could to get onto that team. And if it also helped her relationship with her father, all for the better.

"I don't see why we have to be with Gryffindors of all people," Malfoy whined as they waited patiently by the row of twenty brooms for the remainder of the class to arrive. "The only time I want to be near the likes of Weasley and Granger is when Snape can put them in their place. And can you just imagine how _awful_ Longbottom is going to be?"

"It'll be more entertaining that being with the Puffs or Claws," Zabini observed. Daisy had noticed that the dark-skinned boy did not say much, but when he did, it was usually in contradiction with Malfoy. And perhaps it was the shock that he had spoken, but Malfoy never seemed to mind as he might have done with someone else. "I heard Finnigan saying he'd been approached by a scout for the Tornados when he was eight. We'll see, won't we?"

Madam Hooch arrived shortly after the Gryffindors. Daisy only just about tore her eyes away from the woman's yellow hawk-like ones to stand beside a school broom, which, if the grumblings of the Slytherin Quidditch team were anything to go by, were a waste of physical space and magic.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" the class chorused.

Daisy grinned as the broom jumped into her hand at once. Out of the Slytherin girls, hers was the only one that did so. The other girls did not seem to care though; Millicent merely glared at her broom, then at the teacher, and when she was sure Hooch wasn't looking bent to pick it up. Why would she need to fly when she could Floo? Daisy caught Zabini's eye as Madam Hooch loudly informed Draco that she had been a flying instructor since before he even knew what a broom was thank you and he'd been mounting his broom wrong for years. Even if she thought after she might have imagined the smirk he cast in her direction, Daisy appreciated the moment nonetheless.

"…rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two – "

But Neville had already shot off, and he, or perhaps his wayward broom ignored shouts to come back. There was a gasp as he came back down with a nasty thud and a crack. Daisy covered her mouth in shock, stifling the gasp. Was he dead? No, apparently Snape had been right about wizarding resistance to physical injuries. From a fall of twenty odd feet, Madam Hooch declared a mere broken wrist and helped a very pale looking and tearing Neville to his feet.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital wing! If one of those brooms should move, do not be surprised if you find yourself out of this school faster than you can say 'Quidditch'. Come on dear." With a final glance over the class, she put her arm around the Gryffindor, and despite asserting only a broken wrist, he was hobbling.

"Poor Neville," Daisy whispered to Millicent. "I hope he's alright."

"I hope Madam Hooch lets him keep his feet on the ground next week," Millicent answered back.

At least then he would not have to deal with the likes of Malfoy, who once professor and student were out of sight, burst into laughter. "Did you see the look on the great lump's face? I bet he wet his pants!" Other Slytherins joined in; Daisy, conscious of Harry standing on the other side of the divide watching her, did not. She merely grimaced.

"Shut up Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil, a pretty girl Daisy had crossed once or twice in the girls bathroom, always in the company of Lavender Brown.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom, are we?" Pansy taunted. "Never thought you'd like a fat little cry baby, Parvati."

Parvati's jaw clenched, and like someone who'd had experience dealing with Pansy in the past, said nothing, shrinking instead into the whispered comforts of her best friend. Not that she had to say anything – Draco had already found his next source of entertainment in the form of Neville's Remembrall that he'd spotted glinting in the grass. And he wasn't about to give it to Harry just because the Gryffindor demanded it of him. Apparently the train snub was still fresh in the Slytherin's mind.

"You know what Potter? I think I'll leave it somewhere safe for Longbottom to collect," Draco smiled nastily. Everyone was watching the exchange. "How about – up a tree?"

And before anyone could stop them (though Granger made a valiant attempt to stop Harry) the two boys were off the ground and chasing it each other into the skies. "Boys," Millicent muttered besides her, and really, Daisy had to agree. It looked like Harry was going to knock Draco out of the skies. Crabbe made to mount his broom, but Goyle shook his head - this was a battle Draco could fight if he was stupid enough to start it. Getting expelled wasn't on their list of things to do; _they_ didn't have Lucius Malfoy as a father.

Harry was clearly thinking none of that as he dived through the sky, all for Neville's Remembrall.

"HARRY POTTER!"

It was not Madam Hooch, but Professor McGonagall, striding across to where Harry had rolled into the grass. From her tone as she motioned him to follow, they could tell that he was in some sort of trouble. Malfoy looked triumphant, patted on the back by Crabbe and commended on his flying skills by an impressed Zabini. The latter had honestly not expected him to make it any higher than a few feet off the ground.

"Your cousin is crazy," Millicent said as they sat on the grass waiting either for Madam Hooch's return or the signal of the end of the lesson, whichever came first. As usual they were apart from the other Slytherin girls who were giggling and casting purposefully obvious glances in Parvati's direction. "That was his first time on a broom, wasn't it?"

"I think so," Daisy shrugged, picking up a few bits of grass. "The only other time I've ever seen him with a broom, he was sweeping. I bet he just got lucky."

"Not many people can pull of that kind of manoeuvre the first time they fly. Most Seekers retire after a poorly performed Wronski Feint." Millicent sighed at Daisy's questioning look. "Get someone else to explain Quidditch to you. I'm disgusted I know so much already."

It was Daisy's turn to sigh.

She hated not knowing things.

* * *

"AAGHHHHHH!"

Daisy's screams alerted the attention of her roommates, who all ran to the bathroom. Only Millicent seemed to share her horror; the other three could barely hide their mirth. Even her usually chatty reflection said nothing as Daisy stared into the mirror in sheer horror. Her hair was green. And not just any green. It was neon green, like the highlighters Daisy and her group of friends in primary school used to wear as nail polish because they were just so cool.

"I think it kind of suits you Muggleborn," Daphne smirked. "I might have opted for a darker shade myself, but your family seems to like being _different_ to everyone else."

"Which one of you did this?" Daisy snapped, whirling to face them. "Get rid of it!"

"Get rid of your hair?" Pansy asked in mock confusion. "Why would we want to do that – it's so pretty and long. We'd never _ever_ dare tamper with it. And we'd _never_ put in a hair dye that'll make you go permanently bald if you try and get rid of it magically."

It took all her strength not to jump up and tear Pansy's dark brown hair from her head. Daisy had only ever gotten into a fight once, and her mother's disappointment had stopped her from getting into any more. Fighting was her brother's domain: she was a young lady. She would wait and then she would _kill_ Pansy Parkinson in her sleep if she had to. It took even more strength for her not to cry as Millicent picked up a strand and tried to comfort her friend.

"It's… It's not… At least it's green."

"Do you think it's true? That if we try and get it out magically, I'll go bald?"

For once, Millicent really didn't have an answer. "I'll go try and find Wilcock. You, try not to kill anything."

Daisy sat on the edge of a bathtub, and tried to ignore the triumphant smirk on Pansy and Daphne's faces as they came in on the pretext of forgotten items. At least Tracey had the decency to cast her an apologetic look. This was Harry's fault. There was little doubt about it. Just when she'd thought things were looking up – Zabini had taken time on the evening of the flying lessons to explain to her the finer points of the brilliant sport that was Quidditch, occasionally aided by Malfoy – Harry had to go and ruin it all! Why wasn't he expelled or given detention like a normal student? Why did he, on Friday morning, receive a broomstick, in direct violation of the rules - and the new Nimbus Two Thousand at that! Everyone seemed to forget that had it not been for Draco, McGonagall would have never spotted Harry's natural talent on a broom, talent so great it was enough to secure him a place on the Quidditch team. Youngest player in a century!

The weekend had been horrible. Malfoy's increased dislike of Harry seemed to have signalled an end to the Snape imposed tolerance; she'd found herself tripping over nothing, not even her own feet – one minute she'd be walking back to the table, and the next she'd be on the floor, turning bright red as all the students in the Library turned to look at her and she rushed to gather up the books. She'd tried not to look shocked as someone called her Mudblood – to her face. She kept repeating to herself that she could do this. She'd keep her head down, and given time people would realise that Harry was just a scrawny little freak, and that she was Daisy bloody Dursley.

Except there was no chance of keeping her head down with bright green hair.

Wilcock was livid as she strode into the first year bathroom, her bottom half still decked in star-spangled purple pyjamas. She tapped Daisy's head with a wand and then let out a series of curse words that the first years would have blushed at did they not accurately portray their feeling.

"They probably got it from the girls in my year," she sighed. "It's banned, for obvious reasons. I was lucky enough to just spend a month with bright orange hair, but Kristy - well, she never came back after Christmas. Zonko's lost so much money from lawsuits that they discontinued it – should have never existed in the first place if you ask me. I should imagine there's quite a few vials still knocking around though for this exact purpose."

"So there's nothing you can do?"

"Oh, there's plenty I can do, but nothing about your hair, I'm afraid. I'll let Professor Snape know – that way you won't get any points taken off of you from the other teacher. And we'll figure out a way to deal with those girls, don't worry."

"Please don't make it worse," Daisy pleaded, suddenly having an image of them ganging up on her, meting out the appropriate punishment for squealing. "I'll just…wear my hat more often or something."

Wilcock surveyed for her a moment, but nodded. "Hurry up and get dressed. You'll need your strength to get through today, and it might be best to get it over and done with. Hiding will just mean they've won."

"It's really not that bad," Millicent tried again, once Wilcock had left. "It's kind of edgy."

* * *

_Dear Daisy, _

_I am sorry to hear that you are so upset about Harry getting his own broom. But jealousy is not a virtue Daisy, and you need to wait your turn. If the rules have been bent just for him, perhaps it means he's finally found something he's not terrible at, and perhaps we should be happy for him._

_We will get you your own broom this summer, the top of the range if that's what you need. Though it sounds like a dangerous and unladylike sport, if that is what you want to do, your father and I will support you the best we can. We only ever want what's best for you._

_I hope the BN's cheered you up considerably and did not arrive all in pieces. I don't know how good owls are at delivering biscuits intact._

_In other news, your brother has been excluded from Smelting for injuring a fellow pupil with his Smelting stick. Though Dudley is adamant it was an accident, the Headmaster there wants to make sure no more accidents of the kind occur. I am glad to have him home for a week, even if under such unfortunate circumstances. I'm disappointed in him, but your father even more so. I quote "I wish your sister was here so she could teach you a thing or two about this thing called subtlety." I'm not encouraging you to go out and harm people if you know you can get away with it, but I want to show you that your father misses you. In his own way._

_Your brother sends his best wishes._

_Lots of love,_

_Mummy_

Daisy crumpled up the letter, stuffing it into her book bag. That was not what she had wanted to hear. She had expected her mother to be on her side, to write to Dumbledore and demand that Harry return the broom or that all first years be given the same opportunity. She felt almost betrayed. How could _her_ mother not take her side? Maybe she should have written something along the lines of '_Dear Mum, If Harry stays on the team my whole House is going to murder me in my sleep'_ though it would have probably achieved the opposite of what she wanted – her removal from Hogwarts, and Harry's further opportunity to shine, and she could stand that even less.

Had she not been aware of all eyes on her as she tried to eat something, she would have burst into tears then and there. If she thought it might gather her sympathy rather than further ridicule, she might have done so as well. Instead she tried to appreciate Millicent's attempt to draw her into a conversation about their Astronomy lesson scheduled for that evening.

It was cut short when Harry walked – no, stormed – up to where she was sat.

"Could I talk to you?" he hissed. "In private?"

Nodding, she followed him out of the Great Hall and into the empty room they had gathered in before their Sorting. For a fleeting moment she thought he was concerned about her hair, that he was going to apologise for getting her in trouble, when instead he brandished a parchment letter in her face.

"What the hell is this Daisy?" he demanded. "_Dear Mr Potter, We regret to inform you that we only offer sponsorships for our products to players competing on a professional level. However, we would be pleased to extend a hand in partnership, and offer regular promotional gifts in exchange for the association of your name with Starships Ltd., providers of quality brooms since 1558, an offer that would be gladly extended to enclose any relatives you may have who also practise our sport_."

"How should I know?"

"_I_ didn't write to them," Harry snapped. "So _you_ did."

"That's a horrible thing to accuse me of Harry," Daisy said, keeping her voice even as she looked Harry in the eyes, catching her bright hair reflected in his glasses, the green significantly brighter than the narrowed emerald eyes. "It could have been anyone."

"No, it was _you_. You've already done it once – yes, I know about the book. Hermione asked Madam Prince about the book you mentioned, the one that was supposed to be a sequel of _Hogwarts: A History_ – you have one of the only five printed copies because you used _my_ name!"

"You said I could!"

"I said you could use _Hedwig_!"

"It's not _fair_!" Daisy cried out, feeling a tantrum building, the tears she had been holding back welling up in her eyes, dangerously close to the surface. "You have _everything_ in this world. Anything you want, you get. No rules apply to you, everyone wants to be your friend, strangers clambering over each other to have anything to do with the brilliant Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, and then there's _me_ – I'm – they – I have bright green hair!"

Harry found it very hard to be sympathetic in that moment. "And? You were the brilliant Daisy Dursley, could do no wrong, top of the class and most popular girl in school. Me – I was little old Harry, _freak_. You just can't handle that not everyone likes you here."

"Correction – because of you and your stupid broom, _no one_ likes me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, here we go again. Everything that goes wrong for the Dursleys is apparently my fault. No - not this time Daisy! Your hair being green is not _my_ fault. If no one likes you, maybe you should work on being nicer or something, but don't you _dare_ blame me!"

"You have no _idea_ what it's like for me."

"Really, Daisy? Did I not live in a cupboard under the stairs for ten years? Did your family not hate me purely because I was different from them, that they didn't understand me? Did you not put pins on my chair, salt in my tea and trip me up in front of the whole class because you thought it was _funny_?"

Daisy stood with her arms crossed, trying to find a way to deny the accusations, to avoid having to deal with the truth that he spoke.

"You were a freak."

"And here, Daisy, so are you."

* * *

_**A/N**: Finished my exams, so I thought I'd celebrate with an update! A nice long chapter to boot. Again, one of those chapters where I'm going for many things, and the answer to those niggling questions is 'all will be answered in due time'. I'm still doing a lot of lip-biting in regards to my Slytherins, but I think I prefer them this way. The first time I wrote this, Daisy sailed through her first years, as popular as ever, which was just a little unrealistic, and worst of all Daisy wouldn't learn a thing that way. And if I wanted that I'd have put her in Gryffindor, and teamed with Ron, their reign of terror would have been interesting. Malfoy would have nothing on them._

_But that's a different story, and in this one the road to Dursley Redemption is a long one. On that enigmatic note, I thank you for reading! I appreciate all the story alerts, favourites and (especially) reviews - feedback is always helpful, highly motivating and welcome._


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven 

Daisy had never thought she'd meet anyone she'd hate as much as she hated as Pansy Parkinson.

In another world where she had been born at least a half-blood, she and Pansy might have been friends. She might have enjoyed making snide remarks at Millicent about her size and written catty comments on the inside of the girl bathroom stalls about Patil and Brown, and she'd have joined in the gossip as they sat around painting their nails, gushing over the boys and the future weddings they had been planning since they had been taught that a good marriage was one of the most important things in their lives (for family honour and personal prestige, of course). Her piano skills and grace would have been appreciated; and she'd be one of the prettiest girls in her year, her only clear Slytherin rival Daphne, with her English rose looks and straight teeth.

But in this world, she was Mudblood Dursley. With the fading bright green hair.

Millicent, as it was now proper to call her, was her rock throughout all of this. With Daisy still not speaking to Harry, and more importantly, Harry making no effort to speak to her, the quiet Slytherin was her only friend. And having suffered at the hands of Pansy for years now, Millicent knew the frustrations that Daisy felt: wanting to lash out, but knowing it would only make things worse; wanting to cry, but knowing it would just make her look weak; and wanting to leave, but knowing it would mean the bully had won. Millicent never said much beyond the necessary, but the fact that she never left Daisy's side or uttered a harsh word against her meant more than any words.

Daisy threw herself into her schoolwork; it was the only sanctuary she could find, and she relished the feeling of receiving her essays back with little to no red ink, of seeing the Ravenclaws disbelief when Flitwick smiled brightly '_Oh ho! I do believe Miss Dursley has mastered it! Five points to Slytherin!_' which made a nice change from the seemingly never-ending barrage of points awarded to their Ravenclaw classmates. Daisy liked that in the classrooms, she was at least Miss Dursley. She left the dormitory as early as she could and returned to the Common Room shortly before curfew, always with her head in a book, always scribbling on a piece of parchment. Sometimes, when she was alone in the dorm, she'd take out her cherished pen and trace her fingers over the embossing in its gold body - _GRUNNINGS, INC_ - and find tears smudging her work before she could stop them. She missed home, she missed her parents, she missed being normal. She missed her life Before as much as Harry sat far above her in the welcoming Gryffindor Common Room surrounded by friends, thanking the Powers That Be for this new world where he _finally_ fit in.

But every time she picked up her pen to write to her mother, to ask for her to come and take her home, she'd think of all the things that Pansy would say when she had left, how the Purebloods would think they had won a small victory in their twisted cause that Daisy had yet to understand, how Millicent would be the new target, all alone because Daisy couldn't take a few snide comments, and the jealousy that would course through her every time Harry returned having learnt something new, taken one step closer to becoming a great wizard, and unknowingly forecasting the sense of regret she would feel at the end of her life when she looked back to see that she had not done all that she could to be what she was destined to be: _great_.

Textbooks would write about her one day, she told herself: Hogwarts' infamous Muggleborn Slytherin. She was going to graduate in seven years' time the first ever female Slytherin Quidditch Captain, or failing that with the prestigious title of Head Girl, an accolade to add to her top grades, and her bright future ahead of her as Seeker for the Chuddley Cannons, or a Head Healer at St. Mungo's Hospital or even, as she sometimes allowed herself to muse, as the first Muggleborn female Minister for Magic. She relished the thought of all those who had ridiculed her forced to grovel at her feet, to seek favour as she passed laws that banned marriages between relatives of blood, bettered Muggle-Wizarding relations and exacted her revenge in ways that would make her father giddy with pride. Though unlikely, it comforted her to imagine herself at the head of the Wizarding World, and Dudley resident at 10 Downing Street. The world would be theirs.

At that moment she'd wipe away her tears, laughing at her own silliness, but at least then she could push the homesickness aside and plough onwards with her attempts at understanding why Professor Binns placed so much importance on wars. She was awaiting Flourish and Blotts confirmation for Mr Potter as to whether they had any copies of Professor Binns work before his death besides the slim tome on Goblin Wars housed in the school library.

And besides, Harry had survived and come out of the other end of it, loved and popular; she would too.

* * *

Halloween morning dawned bright and crisp, the scent of baking pumpkin infiltrating even the dungeons which were grew steadily colder despite the fires being kept burning deep into the night to avoid the glacial mornings. It was a splendid way to wake up, somewhat brightening Daisy's usual padding towards the bathroom before _they_ woke up. Millicent wasn't a morning person, as attempts to include her in this routine had shown, so Daisy would already be buttoning up her cloak as the former was just shaking the sleep out of her eyes, signalling that she'd see her at breakfast. She stopped by the noticeboard first, to see if anything new had been added. Her eyes scanned over the meeting times with Professor Snape over the term – hers was scheduled to take place in couple days' time - reminders of curfew times for the different years, the Library opening times, recruitment for the newly resurrected Arithmancy Society which needed keen and open-minded members to delve into this fine art…

"Excuse me."

Daisy mumbled an apology as she jumped out of the way of the tall, imposing fifth year that was Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. She watched as he pinned the final line up for the Quidditch Team and the Reserve Team as well as the dates for the final practises they could squeeze in before the opening of the season.

"We're going to crush the Gryffindors," he informed her as he caught her gaze. He watched her carefully, perhaps expecting that she would jump in defence of Harry, but she did no such thing. Instead she agreed with him with a sort of bitterness he had not expected in the pretty blonde first year.

"Make sure you do."

"What about Potter?"

"What about him? If I had a Nimbus Two Thousand, I bet I could outfly him easily."

She'd never shared her Quidditch ambitions with anyone other than Millicent, and did not know why she did so then. Perhaps it seemed like an opportune moment, with most of the House still asleep, to open up to her potential future captain. She braced herself for the derisive comments, but instead of ridicule, Flint's square face showed surprise tinged with amusement.

"Didn't know you fancied yourself a bit of a player."

She nodded. "I want to be on that list this time next year. My father's already saving up for a broom, because I can hardly fly against Potter on a school broom. A second one escaped last week you know."

"I'm sure we can find a place for you on reserve."

"Reserve? No, I'm going to be on the team. And once you graduate, I'm going to be Quidditch Captain."

He snorted. "You're very ambitious, Muggleborn."

Daisy turned sharply towards the older boy, completely ignoring that he was older than her, bigger than her, stronger than her and possibly downright nasty, and all but growled -

"My _name_ is Daisy Dursley."

He had not seen such confidence from the first year since the start-of-banquet feast. Flint thought it rather suited her. It went well with her green hair; the confidence stance, fingers twitching at a wand even though he was sure she could do nothing than place him in a Body-Binder Curse at most. But he did not convey any of this. Instead he smirked, crossing his long arms nonchalantly over his broad chest, dark eyes peering down at her with curiosity.

"That doesn't mean much around here."

"Trust me," Daisy snapped. "One day, it will."

* * *

"How did it go?"

Daisy was sat cross-legged on her bed practising the Levitation Charm Flitwick had taught them the day before when Millicent entered the dormitory. So far every third try was successful. The other two tries had her patting her quill as if her actions were similar to some sort of fire spell. Millicent watched her efforts for a few moments before replying, eyes on the feather that hovered over her head a few moments before being guided down gently. Daisy had discovered that a quill was not a feather and spewed left over ink if allowed to fall too quickly.

"He says that I should apply myself more in his lessons," Millicent shrugged in answer. "He knows my mother, probably from Potions Master Conference or whatever Potions Masters do when they get together. Thinks I have the capacity to do well in it. I'm just not _interested_ in Potions, so I really couldn't care less."

"What _are_ you interested in?"

"I don't know, but I do know it's not Potions." She glanced at the empty dormitory. "Where are the hags?"

"Already left," Daisy waved, slipping her black school robes on again. "Shall we go? I want to try whatever they've been baking that smells so good."

"It's not real," Millicent pointed out. "It's a charm. No one, not even house elves, could bake something that smells so good from morning until now."

This revelation did not stop Daisy's stomach from grumbling as they emerged from the dungeons. The Great Hall was nearly full, loud with the sound of chattering students, all awaiting the promised feast that had been tempting them all day. They took two remaining seats near the older years; Flint smirked at Daisy, and Daisy found herself responding if only because it wasn't a sneer. Her eyes wandered over to the Gryffindor table. Harry was there, his hair still sticking up in all directions as per usual, talking to Ron and Neville. He seemed happy. This, made her both glad, and rather miserable.

"You should talk to him you know," Millicent said as Daisy returned her attention to the Slytherin table only to find that the golden platters had already filled with food. "I don't understand why you're even angry at him. _He's_ not the one who forged your signature and tried to trick a bunch of wizards into parting with their goods for free."

"He _is_ the reason why most people hate me," Daisy countered, helping herself to a jacket potato. So far she'd thought it best to keep to herself that she was still hoodwinking companies, notably Flourish and Blotts, into parting with their goods at such ridiculously reduced rates, it might as well have been free. And all she'd needed to do was to accidentally yank a few strands of Harry's hair during flying lessons.

"Aw, we don't hate you Mudblood," the blond next to her smiled having overheard her as he reached across her for a jacket potato. "We just rue your very presence in our House. Your existence is very confusing."

"Leave her alone Pucey," Flint warned, passing Daisy vegetables that she had not asked for. She helped herself anyway, too awed at his defence for it to matter that she hated peas. "Everything confuses you. It's a wonder you manage to catch a Quaffle."

"And it's a wonder you manage to do anything that doesn't involve a Quaffle," Pucey countered. "If it wasn't for Selena, they'd have taken your wand away and you wouldn't have even noticed."

"Who needs a wand when they're playing for England?"

Whatever Pucey was going to say was halted by the sound of the doors banging open. They watched Professor Quirell sprinting in, the fastest most students had ever seen him move, pale and his turban askew. All the students stared, some mid-bite as he reached Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table and gasped –

"T-t-troll in the dungeons. I thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint. Well, that settled it. Professor Quirell could no more take on his own shadow than he could any of the creatures he – well, their textbook – taught them about. His announcement produced an uproar quelled only by purple firecrackers emitted by the Headmaster that brought the students to a sudden silence.

"Prefects," Professor Dumbledore rumbled standing, other Professors swiftly following. "Take your Houses back to their dormitories."

"Is he crazy?" Wilcock snapped at this announcement, gaining the ascent of those who realised the significance of this words. "If the troll is in the fucking dungeons we'll be going right to it. _Sit down_ – we are not moving from here until we get the all clear."

"Who died and made you boss, Wilcock?"

"If you think you can handle yourself against a troll Davencourt, then be my guest. "

"She's right," another Prefect agreed as the rest of the Houses filed out. "We can lock the doors if it does come up here. A lot easier than trying to manoeuvre all of us through the dungeons. That's pretty dangerous in itself."

"Honestly Flint," Pucey said, returning to his jacket potato as if there wasn't pandemonium around him. "Couldn't you tell your family to visit at a more socially acceptable time?"

"If we didn't have a match in a few days Pucey," Flint growled, dark brown eyes narrowed at his smirking Housemate. "I would give you the punching you're asking for. Madam Pomfrey hasn't seen you in a while, has she?"

Daisy didn't know what conversation she wanted to listen to. This exchange between Flint and Pucey had peaked her curiosity; why had most of the fifth years laughed at Pucey's slur? What did he mean by family? And then there was the argument taking place between two professors that Daisy did not know the name of but had often seen sat at the High Table and the Slytherin Prefects, the latter growing steadily agitated.

"Professor Vector, we are only asking you to be reasonable! Professor Quirell said there was a troll in the _dungeons_ – near our Common Room!"

"Miss Farley," Professor Vector said calmly, shifting her black hat a little in discomfort. Though she did not disagree with her student, she did not wish to go against her employer. "The Headmaster gave clear orders. He would not have done so if he felt that you were in danger."

There was a loud snort. "As far as the Headmaster is concerned, if you are not a Muggleborn or Gryffindor, or preferably both, you're not worth saving."

Another teacher tried her luck with the stubborn snakes. "Come now Mr Jameson, what a preposterous accusation."

"You would say that, wouldn't you? Teaching about Muggle _equality_, and other such rot-"

"I do not appreciate your tone young man!"

"I bet you let that troll in, Professor – glad for a reason to be rid of the only people that stand in the way of your Muggle love fest-"

"Ten points from Slytherin!"

"Take as many points as you want. Doesn't change that my job is to protect my fellow students, and until our Head of House returns, we are not moving. Especially not at the request of a-"

"Seriously Jameson, don't push it. She's not worth it."

Jameson looked like he had a lot more to say, and Daisy along with others watched the exchange wondering if he would, but he seemed to listen to his fellow Prefects and moved away from the teacher to take a seat next to a petite curly haired girl, who lay a comforting hand on her arm as he disappeared behind his long fringe.

"That must be Rhys Jameson," Millicent whispered as they waited nervously in the Great Hall that seemed strangely empty without the other Houses, seventh years standing by the door with their wands at the ready, Stunning spells at the tip of their tongues. "He really hates Muggles; more than even the Noble Houses."

"Why?"

"His mother was a Muggleborn. They're a big Generational Family, the Jamesons, so there wasn't that much of a fuss - his father is the youngest of four sons I think. All was good _until_ some sort of disagreement broke out between the Jamesons and his mother's Muggle relatives. Rhys' Muggle uncle died the next day of what the Muggle Healers ruled as unknown causes, so they instantly came to the conclusion that magic had something to do with it. They pretended that they wanted to reconcile the two families but it was just a ruse; the Muggles had guns and before anyone had a grasp of what was going on, they'd killed half of the Jamesons there, including Rhys' mother and younger sister."

Daisy gasped. "_No_."

Millicent nodded gravely. "It caused loads of trouble last year – Muggle baiting was on the up, and had Dumbledore not stepped in, the Wizengamot would have probably given the Jameson family permission to completely destroy the whole of that Muggle line. Loads of people think he was wrong to do so. And that-" Millicent gestured to the curly haired woman Jameson had snapped at, "-is Professor Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher who helped Dumbledore form the arguments that acquitted them."

"That's really horrible," Daisy said sadly. "I didn't know…"

"Don't go feeling guilty," Millicent said, sitting up at the sound of opening doors. "It wasn't the Muggles doing the killing during the First War, was it? Some people are bad, others not so bad: it doesn't matter if they're magical or not. My dad's parents tried to drown me at birth." She laughed to herself. "That said, Grandmother tried to drown _him_ not long after."

Daisy did not know how Millicent could take some things so lightly.

A surly Snape had returned to the Great Hall to snarl at them to stop with their obstinate dramatics and return to the Common as originally instructed; the troll had been taken care of. Daisy found that she did not sleep easily that night, and it was nothing to do with the Feast sloshing around in her stomach. She lay awake staring up at the dark draping, thinking of all that she had witnessed that evening. Strangely it was not even the thought that a troll had somehow found its way into the castle, making its way unnoticed through various layers of wards and charms that were in place to confuse even the most clever of dark creatures. As usual, she was trying to make sense of her Housemates.

What _had_ Pucey meant by his comment? Why was Flint even sticking up for her? Had he been impressed by her ambition rather than merely amused? If she could get Flint onside, then she had quite an ally. He was like Crabbe and Goyle rolled into one when it came to protection, _and_ he was a Noble House Pureblood. She would have to utilise her best smile on him from now on, perhaps he wasn't as prejudiced as the rest, not that blood played entirely into it. Seemed it wasn't always a question of what you were, but who you knew that could make up for this fact.

Despite Millicent telling her not to feel guilty, she still felt a pang of something at the thought of Rhys Jameson. A terrible scene flashed in her mind of machine guns and screaming families… Did wizards have shields that could stop bullets? Spells that could turn the bullets back to their sender? Clearly not, or they wouldn't have died. Daisy wondered vaguely if every time he saw her sitting at the end of the table he had the urge to blast her into oblivion for what she represented. But his mother had been a Muggleborn too…

Every time Daisy thought she'd figured out Slytherin, everything got more complicated.

* * *

"Oi, Flint! Did you hear? I heard your father was beaten by a couple of first years!"

Daisy moved out of the way to avoid being trampled by the sixth year as he attempted to outrun a livid Flint to the general amusement of the Common Room. She walked over to where Millicent, to her surprise, was sitting one of the black sofas talking to Nott. Daisy and Millicent rarely talked to anyone in their House, if not to rebuff snotty comments aimed in their direction. As she neared the sofa, she noticed that it was Zabini sitting at one end of it hidden behind a large tome, and also noticed the roll of parchment in Millicent's lap.

"Honestly Nott, you write like a five year old," Millicent said, as she squinted at a sentence before crossing it out and scribbling something else. "You'd think we didn't all take the same calligraphy lessons."

"He's left-handed," Zabini said, turning the page. Pink spots appeared in Nott's cheeks.

"What difference does that make?" Daisy asked, bringing a black leather pouf near the group. Zabini looked at her as if she'd just asked him if Albus Dumbledore was their Headmaster – Daisy did not break away from his hazel gaze. It wasn't a stupid question.

"He writes with his right hand."

"Why?"

"Because Pureblood heirs are not left-handed," Nott answered a little more brusquely than he'd intended. "What is it with you Mudbloods and questions? I thought it was just a Granger Syndrome."

"Maybe it's because the things you Purebloods make no sense," Daisy snapped back, thinking to her brief History lessons in primary school. "Muggles stopped tying their children's hands back so they'd be right handed a little over a hundred years ago."

"Well, that would explain why they're so degenerate then."

Daisy had never really spoken to the scrawny dark-haired Slytherin and had not expected him to hold such prejudiced views of a world he had probably never stepped foot in. Any normal, sane, non-magical person would have argued the exact opposite. What was the point of Nott using his right hand if he was naturally balanced to use his left hand? Daisy said no more. She'd always been careful about what she said in her defence, because no one, not even Millicent, was going to openly take her side, but had grown even more cautious since Halloween. She didn't want anyone to think she was born of _those_ type of Muggles. She'd also begun to understand her mother's attitude towards Harry, and to some extent, to her at the beginning of it all – wizards had killed her sister, murdered her and her brother-in-law and then left their son on their doorstep. Magic had taken her family; it was a lot easier to just hate all things from that world than take Millicent's mature approach of 'There are good and bad people everywhere'.

"Did you hear about Potter?" Millicent said as she handed Nott back his corrected Potions essay. She couldn't understand what was so hard about comparing the uses of aconite, and she told him as much to which he scowled. Daisy shook her head. "Apparently he, Weasley and Granger decided to go and take on the troll themselves."

"Bet they're just rumours," Daisy said, finding it hard to think that three first years could have so easily a creature that had their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher trembling in fear.

"They're not," Zabini countered. "The Bloody Baron was there. He thought that Potter and Weasley had it right when they locked the troll in the bathroom with Granger. Where they went wrong was going back to save her."

"Such a shame," Nott chuckled. "It would have meant one less Mudblood amongst us."

"You do know I'm sitting right here?" Daisy snapped.

"How could we forget?"

"Apart from your insufferable chattering, the stench is quite unbearable."

Daisy stormed out of the Common Room, Zabini and Nott's rare laughter ringing in her ears. She'd had enough, she didn't care anymore – she'd fucking had _enough_! She entered the first empty classroom she came across, unable to make it much further, and just screamed. She didn't care if Snape was teaching just next door or if people came running or if she made a scene but she couldn't do this anymore.

_Muggleborn. Mudblood. That. Her. It_.

"I have a _name_!"

The table did not respond – it only knocked into others as she pushed it over. The stools that she kicked over were equally silent. She was crying; both from the anger and the sheer relief of finally letting go of the anger, of letting go of the tantrum she was constantly holding back. She had a name! She was Daisy Dursley, daughter of Petunia and Vernon Dursley, niece of the Muggleborn Lily Potter and cousin to the half-blood Harry Potter, the last of the Noble House of Potter. A surge of jealousy sent a stool across the classroom as she thought of Harry, how he even he had _that_ better than her on top of the long list things the Boy-Who-Lived trumped her in this world – he had a bloody Noble House to claim! And what made it even worse that as he sat at the Gryffindor table, he was ignorant of this very fact. He would have done brilliantly in Slytherin because of that alone.

Maybe she just wanted to be expelled.

Jars that lined the walls smashed, row after row, sending shards of glass and unknown material about the room; curtains ripped off the windows allowing the late afternoon sun to illuminate her destruction. Anger coursed through every inch of her being, searching an outlet after being kept locked up for so long. Daisy smashed a stool against the shelf, and used the remains to smash, smash, smash anything and everything until the splinters were painful, and she was bleeding and she was tired.

She fell to the floor. Glass pierced her knees.

"My name is Daisy. Daisy Dursley."

In that moment all she wanted was her Mum.


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Whilst the majority of Hogwarts students were finishing the last of their desserts, ambling back to their respective Common Rooms to feign enthusiasm for homework or to the Library to catch those few precious hours before their age-assorted curfews, two students were in a Potions classroom wishing that brooms weren't also used for sweeping.

"We should be fine," Marcus Flint said. He was sat on the newly repaired teacher's desk, lazily twirling his wand around his fingers. "We have strong Chasers – well, Pucey could stand to toughen up a bit, but he's the best we've got – Bletchley is a decent keeper but he lets Johnson manoeuvre around him too easily. Only thing we've got to worry about are the Weasley twins and Potter. No one's seen him play yet, and we can't keep hoping, like Higgs is, that his placement on the team was beginner's luck."

"I really hope we do win," Daisy mumbled, concentration wavering slightly as she thought of the reaction her House was going to have if Gryffindor won tomorrow's Quidditch game, the opening match of the season. "You know, this would go a lot faster if you were actually helping me."

"I know."

But this assertion did not motivate him to move. He had other things on his mind than trying to perfect the Repairing Spell that the first year had found in _Useful Household Charms_ book. Marcus supposed he should be grateful that this was his only punishment. Were it not for Dursley's utter destruction of Classroom Three, he imagined that he would have been doing much more than supervising and aiding her in returning it to its near original state as punishment for having flushed Weber down the toilet. It had taken at least an hour before Flitwick had been able to figure out a safe way to extract the blubbering sixth year that had been waist-deep into the plumbing system by his time of rescue.

Marcus didn't know how he did it, except that when he was angry, strange things happened to people he was angry at, more so when he used his fists than when he used his wand. He wasn't a fan of wands. Perhaps that's what Professor Snape had had in mind when he set him on this project; she was more adept at figuring out which spells to use than he was, and he was _supposed_ to be getting ready to sit his Ordinary Wizarding Levels in few months' time. So far he'd succeeded on making a stool shaped table and a desk shaped like a jar.

He glanced at his watch. "I think I'll be off. We've been here the hour Snape wanted, and quite frankly, I have better things to be doing."

"I'll stay here and do a bit more," Daisy said, waving a bandaged hand at the bits of wood that still needed to be cleaned of gunk - corrosive gunk as she'd learnt first-hand, Madam Pomfrey fussing and clicking her tongue, and Professor Snape… As she'd told Millicent when she finally returned to the dormitory, she preferred her father's multicoloured rage to Snape's white-faced hiss. "Good luck at the match tomorrow."

"I don't need luck. Luck is for losers."

She hoped that he knew that Harry had to be the luckiest loser she'd ever met.

* * *

The next morning, Daisy was up at the crack of dawn; partly out of a growing habit, partly out of the fear that swirled around in her stomach at the thought of Gryffindor winning the match. Flint's assurance that they would crush the Gryffindor's to a fine pulp did nothing to calm her nerves, given that Harry had already managed to bend a school rule, written in black and white, that prohibited him from being on the team in the first place. As she pulled her hair into its customary bun, having found that the fading green was a little less obvious this way, she thought about telling Harry what was going on in her House. He'd understand, right? He'd been there before. She found it hard to remember a time when Harry _wasn't_ picked on.

_Which is probably why he wouldn't care_, she reasoned as she sat on her bed trying to perfect the Colour Change charm on her ear muffs, willing the silver to look a little less grey. Daisy _was_ sorry about being horrible to Harry though – she'd apologised, hadn't she? – but even as she tried to tell herself that Harry was a whole lot nicer than she was and might actually be understanding, given the proximity of the match he'd probably just tell her where to shove it anyway, thinking that she was trying to sabotage the match. Daisy would just have to pray that someone knocked him off his broom, and he plummeted, perhaps not to his death, but to a few broken bones. Both his arms would do the trick.

"You're so lucky Mudblood," Pansy commented as Daphne plaited silver and green ribbons into her hair. "_Your_ hair's already decorated for today. Always thinking ahead, you Muggleborns. I hope you've prepared your casket, in the unlikely event that Gryffindors does win."

"Ignore her," Millicent winced, as Daisy pulled the brush through her hair a little too sharply. "Nothing will happen to you because Slytherin probably won't lose. Flint's pretty sure we're gonna win – and people forget he was the youngest Slytherin Captain since Dumbledore's time."

"I thought Quidditch didn't interest you," Daisy teased, desperately trying to ignore the three girls on the other side of the room as she helped Millicent with her hair.

"Quidditch doesn't, people do. Besides, it's not like I can miss this."

"I think it's pretty cool that Professor Snape expects everyone to support our team."

"I heard Flitwick had to make attendance mandatory," Millicent added, passing Daisy the bobby pin she gestured for. "I imagine most Ravenclaws would prefer to spend Saturday curled up with a good book instead of frozen to death in the Quidditch stands for a stupid sport they don't care about."

"Quidditch isn't stupid."

"Yeah, but it makes people stupid. It's just a game, and yet for a lot of people, it means everything."

* * *

"FOUL!" came the cry from the red and gold side of the stands.

"What are they on about?" Daisy shouted along with the rest of the green and silver decked crowd around her. She had grown really engrossed in the game, and found Flint's blocking of Harry perhaps somewhat forceful, but it was nothing that she would deem a foul. Not when they were currently playing a game where it was considered perfectly acceptable to send Bludgers at the back of each other's heads. "Bloody Gryffindors! Come on Slytherin; show them what you're made of!"

"My, you are an excitable one, aren't you?" an older Slytherin commented at Daisy's cheers, which grew louder when Flint scored another goal.

Daisy turned around and grinned. "We've got the best team, what's not to be excited about?"

"Look Daisy," Millicent said, shaking her best friend to turn her attention back to the game, and pointing upwards. "Look, something is happening to Harry!"

As the Slytherin Chasers continued scoring points, it seemed that Harry was steadily losing control of his broom, and everyone was slowly becoming aware of it. Borrowing Millicent's binoculars, she took a closer look at Harry, who was now seriously struggling to hold on. If he wasn't doing it, it meant that somebody else was. Scanning the crowd, at first looking for a student pointing their wand in Harry's direction, she noticed in the teacher's stand that both Professor Snape _and_ Quirell were staring up at Harry, lips moving very fast, and it wouldn't take a Charms Master to figure out that they were both muttering incantations.

And Daisy would bet her parents' life savings that if anyone was trying to kill Harry, it had to be the mysterious Quirell. In his classes he could barely string a spell together, let alone an entire incantation, and now, he appeared to not be stuttering at all. And if Snape had wanted to harm Harry, he'd had plenty of opportunities to do so; the man had been in their home! If hexing a Muggle and an eleven year old before kidnapping the Boy-Who-Lived was not subtle enough for Snape, he _was_ a Potions master, probably capable of brewing poisons that not even the house elves would detect in order to kill Harry. Before Millicent could say anything, Daisy was running through the stands, using the grace years of ballet lessons had instilled in her to manoeuvre around crowds, and then to slip through the back of the teacher's stands.

Spotting (and smelling, for he always had a distinct garlic-y smell about him) Quirell, Daisy did the first thing that came to mind: she set his robes on fire.

"You idiot," a voice hissed behind her. "You were supposed to stop Snape, not Quirell!"

"Professor Snape wouldn't hurt Harry," Daisy hissed back at Granger, as they both moved away from the teachers stand as quickly as possible. "Look, he's okay now." As Quirell fought with the flames, Harry was swinging his legs back onto his broom, and the match continued. "Quirell can't fight a troll but he can suddenly counter jinxes? Come off it." Granger looked like she might argue, but something about Daisy's tone made her think that now was not the time to be telling her their theories - theories she was not a part of.

"You miss him," was what she said instead. "You haven't spoken to him in a long time, and still you saved him."

Daisy glanced at the bushy haired girl - Harry's friend - part of her wondering who she thought she was making vague assumptions like that as if she even _knew_ her, and the other half swelling at the thought that someone appreciated her act for what it was. Saving Harry because he didn't deserve to plummet fifty feet onto hard ground even if it meant Gryffindor won.

Daisy narrowed her eyes. "I'm not apologising."

"I don't think he's expecting it to be honest," Granger shrugged, offering a knowing smile. "Just…talk to him. I think he misses you too."

At that Daisy smiled. "I'll think about it."

However all thoughts of a reconciliation left as soon as it became clear that she was to be blamed for Harry's eccentric Seeking abilities. The first sign should have been the kick she received in the back as Harry was carried away by a cheering Gryffindor crowd, the incomprehensible _Potter for President_ banner draped around him. The second when she found herself once again tripping over thin air as she and Millicent made their way back to the dormitory, narrowly missing knocking herself out on the stone steps leading up to the Entrance Hall. And the third, much clearer sign, was when Terrence Higgs, having just taken the brunt of their Captain's anger for allowing Potter to swallow the Snitch, spat on her.

"That's what I think of Potter," he said, as she wiped away the blood streaked wad of saliva from her cheek. He spat at her feet. "And that's what I think of you."

The Common Room had gone silent, waiting to see what the first year would do. Most were betting that she would run up to her dormitory and cry, and that's certainly what she wanted to do in order to scrub her face until she could no longer feel his spit on her, to scrub until she was clean again. Instead she did the single most stupid thing she had ever done in her short life.

She spat at his feet.

"And that's what I think of your Seeking."

* * *

"What you did on Saturday was really stupid."

Daisy did not look up at his statement, instead continued to peruse the books she had brought to this session, pulling down the sleeves of the grey school jumper that she had pushed up absentmindedly, conscious that he had stopped jabbing his wand at the pieces of wood that had once been a table and was looking at her.

Marcus had long concluded that, in general, he did not like people. They asked too much of him, expected him to be something he would never be in a million years and then tried to make him miserable for what he was. But as to every rule, there were exceptions. He liked his father because he too was a simple man who preferred ambling around the country greens to mingling at Society functions his wife dragged him to; he liked his mother because she had this way of knowing all the things that he did not say saving him the trouble of translating his emotive grunts and thoughtful stares into words; he liked his older brother because he carried the brunt of the expectations so all in all, Marcus did not have to and had some leeway in the mistakes he was able to commit; he liked Selena Wilcock because she liked him and therefore made him feel better that he was not a pretty boy like Pucey and knew what to say to him when the likes of Pucey started to wind him up, and as they entered their sixth hour of detentions, Marcus was drawing the conclusion that he liked Daisy Dursley.

"_But_ I also think that it had to be done," he continued. "I just didn't think you had it in you, Dursley."

"You shouldn't underestimate me, Flint."

She pushed up her sleeves again, perhaps forgetting or not caring about revealing the bluish-purple bruises that adorned her slender arms, and most likely the rest of her body, flourished her wand, and with the certainty of a NEWT-level student, pointed a wand at the fragments of glass they had swept into a pile. '_A priori Incantatum restauris'_ The pile of glass shimmered before half reassembled itself, flying back onto the shelves as good as new, only to slip off the slanted shelves and back onto the floor. At this rate, Snape would never regain the use of his classroom.

"I should have probably repaired the shelf first," Daisy mumbled to herself, noting the spell on the parchment she kept exactly for this purpose. "Again, this would go a lot faster if you were actually helping me."

"And as I already told you, Charms isn't my thing," Marcus shrugged, throwing a _Reducto_ at his odd reconstructions. They merely toppled over. "I don't need Charms to play Quidditch."

"But don't you need decent grades to stay Captain?" Her blue eyes scrutinised his movements as he once again tried to blow them apart. "You're not enunciating enough, and your movement is too stiff. You can't just grunt and jab your wand and expect it to work."

"You sound like Selena."

"Well, Prefect Wilcock knows what she's doing."

Another reason Marcus reasoned he liked Dursley was because given the opportunity, she was quite tolerably brilliant. Her own attempt at the Reductor spell at least threw the furniture back with enough force to have them smash into splinters, and you could not deny that if what they were attempting to fix was the result of a temper tantrum, she was not your average witch. The scars that remained betrayed her own participation in the destruction of the classroom; it was not merely accidental magic at work, and Marcus could appreciate those outside of Gryffindor who lost control of their emotions. It got tiring of constantly being surrounded by blank, controlled faces, never quite knowing what bubbled underneath the surface.

Dursley at least betrayed anger; she had struggled to remain neutral at the constant swipes made at her expense, and, just like he had done the second term of his first year, she had snapped. And despite the pain he knew she must be in, she held her head high and continued like nothing was wrong. She carried on as if Terrence Higgs, or rather a potential future Mrs Higgs who had access to the female dormitories, had not set a Trip Jinx at the top of stone spiral stairs, and even with her magic shielding her from serious harm, it was no light tumble.

"I'll have a quiet word with Higgs if you'd like."

This time she did look up at his comment, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He noted that the brightest of the green dye now only clung to tips of hair and in the bun she had placed it in, it was barely noticeable.

"Will it make things worse for me?" she asked.

"I'm not sure how much worse it can get for you," Marcus shrugged. "You spat on a Pureblood."

"Because he spat on _me_! And besides, I think I've figured a way around it." He raised an eyebrow. "He did it because of Harry, right? And correct me if I'm wrong, but defending the honour of an ancient family allows those of "lesser" blood to defend them. And he _was_ insulting the Noble House of Potter."

"Of which you're not a part of."

"But-"

"Look, I already said it was stupid of you to spit on Higgs, which it was. No use denying it. And I understand that he took it too far and you snapped. But whatever smarty pants argument you throw at them, it doesn't change that you're a Muggleborn who spat on Pureblood."

"You don't have to keep reminding me."

"I suppose people will be doing that for you," Marcus mused. "Right, I'll have a word with Higgs. If he pushes it too far, I'll push him off of the Astronomy Tower and see how he likes it."

"Why would you do that?"

Marcus shrugged. "I don't like Higgs. He's a rubbish Seeker."

"They'll make fun of you if you stick up for me."

"I don't care. They always find something to make fun of."

"But you just beat them up," Daisy concluded, smiling wryly. "My brother does that as well."

"Then your brother's smart."

"Yeah… yeah I guess he is."

Whether she was just humouring him or genuinely thought so, Marcus didn't care. He had decided that he liked her and Marcus hated when people hurt those who he liked.

* * *

Tracey Davis did not hate the Muggleborn.

"Oh come on Millie," she heard her whining as she and Millicent got ready for that afternoon's lesson of Herbology, wrapping layers of scarves onto their cloaks already lined with a warming spell that the Muggleborn had perfected earlier that week. "It's actually good fun."

"I have no interest in Gobstones," Millicent responded, her tone flat and nasal as always. Or perhaps she had a cold. Tracey did not pay much attention to the heavily built Slytherin unless Pansy or Daphne drew her attention to her. "Why would I give up my time to perfect the art of avoiding being squirted by putrid liquids when I could just not play in the first place?"

"How about the Arithmancy Society then?"

"Honestly Daisy, I'm glad you've found something to distract yourself with, but there's no need to drag me into it. I have no current interest in taking part in any extra-curricular activities."

Tracey walked behind the two of them as they trudged down to the greenhouses, shivering within moments as they waded through the paths melted by older years before them. She had known that winter at Hogwarts would be cold, but like Daphne and Pansy had been complaining since the first layer of snow fell on the grounds making Herbology their most detested lesson, this was ridiculous. _They_ were currently in the Hospital Wing complaining of cramps so that they could be excused for at least the coming hour. It was odd not being with the other girls, following them, nodding when they required her acquiescence, shaking her head when they needed her disapproval. Perhaps that's why she fell so naturally in step with the Muggleborn and Bullstrode.

It was also strange to have the space to think for herself, to see the world from her own eyes.

"Miss Davies," Professor Sprout said, as they fell into their usual tables of three, Pansy and Daphne's absence obvious. "Where are Misses Greengrass and Parkinson?"

"With the Matron. They aren't feeling well."

"Well, I suggest you work with Miss Bullstrode and Miss Dursley today. No use working all on your lonesome."

Normally Tracey would have pulled a face at being told to sit next to the Muggleborn, but there was no one there to truly appreciate this movement, and so she didn't. She merely gathered her tray of Winter Weeds they were tending to and placed it in the perpetual empty seat next to the blonde who did not acknowledge this change of seating. The Muggleborn had gotten better at ignoring the existence of most people in her House over the past month as Flint got better at threatening people who did not ignore hers if they weren't going to be tolerant and welcoming like Snape had bloody well told them to be.

Tracey had not been welcoming but nor had she been mean either. She didn't hate the Muggleborn. It was hard enough being from a newly established Generational Family that she quite admired the Muggleborn for even attempting to find her feet in the Slytherin House. The Davies' only had such a high standing because her father was an Unspeakable (as his father and grandfather before him) and his occasional presence at balls solicited much talk, and her mother was a Scandinavian-born Parisian-based fashion designer, whose designs were highly sought after by Society witches, in particular the wedding robes. If Tracey was the boasting type, she would boast that she had a line of maternity robes named after her. She had, of course, been the inspiration for these robes woven with natural magic beneficial to the growing child, others that hid the advanced stages for those who did not like to attract attention and others with soothing pressure points. It was impressive magic, but impressive magic only took you so far in the closed Society circles.

So Tracey understood the anger the Muggleborn must have felt to inflict upon herself the thin white scars adorning her hands that glinted in the candlelight of the Great Hall at dinner, refusing to answer to any requests including the term Mudblood, only occassionally bending to a dangerously stated Muggleborn, just as Tracey felt the Muggleborn understood that she wanted to befriend her, she really did, but that took a certain type of courage, a certain type of bravery that only mis-Sorted Gryffindors like her held.

"You're adding too much water."

"Pardon?"

"You're adding too much water," the Muggleborn repeated, pointing to the small puddle of water that was forming above the brown soil. "It's not good for the weed."

"Thank you."

The Muggleborn offered her a grimace that might have constituted a smile, and then did not speak to her again. But Tracey did not forget this kind act, and when later in the dormitory she was sat cross-legged on Daphne's bed, painting their nails whilst discussing if the Muggleborn had slipped Flint a love potion or if he had taken her on as a pet, she said nothing. She did not agree or disagree and excused herself early, and lay in bed staring at the green hangings of the four poster bed, not quite as opulent as hers at home, thinking that she might quite like to join the Gobstones Club.

An opportunity presented itself two days later. Draco had caught cold, easily done in the cold of the dungeons, and Pansy was in the Hospital Wing offering her company and Daphne had gone along for lack of better things to do. Tracey had decided to stay in the dormitory where it was warm and there were no germs, and she could compose a reply to her mother's suggestion that they spend Christmas in Italy without one of them peering over her shoulder and commenting on the unconventionality of such a move: she would miss the Society Yuletide Festivities and the New Year Ball, hosted by the Malfoys every year since Ulysses Malfoy was Minister for Magic (however briefly he held the title). She did not have to pretend that she wouldn't be glad to spend Christmas with only her parents, and she was particularly excited of the prospect of Italy, because Italy always meant _vampires_.

Tracey was finishing up her letter when the door to the dormitory opened, and in came the Muggleborn and Millicent, the latter's red face betraying a recent ascent and descent to the Owlery.

"Come _on_ Millie. The Arithmancy Society is confusing and a bit pointless right now, yes, but the Gobstones Club is amazing. There are loads of people who are just there to make friends outside their Houses; you don't have to play. How can you not be interested if you haven't tried?"

"I'll come."

It was the Muggleborn's turn to look confused. "Sorry, what?"

"I said I'll come," Tracey repeated herself, fighting to keep the colour out of her cheeks as her two roommates scrutinised her for any evidence that this was some sick joke. "I'll come with you to the Gobstones Club if you like. Since Bullstrode doesn't want to go."

The Muggleborn took a long time to reply, but eventually there was a nod and that grimace once more. "There's a meeting tomorrow at three."

That the Muggleborn did not insist that they walk there together, giving her instead the room number and instructions on how to get there was further proof that she understood why Tracey had not approached her until now. She was waiting outside of it, looking more comfortable in her jeans and thick woollen jumper than she ever looked in her robes, and she offered Tracey that grimace before leading her inside. The Muggleborn was confident in her movements, a near skip in her step as she moved from group to group, Tracey sticking close and finding herself shyer than she remembered being.

"What _she_ doing here?"

Susan Bones was a welcoming person by nature, but there was a limit to how welcoming you could be to a girl who spent at least one hour a week trying to goad you into tears.

The Muggleborn shrugged. "She wanted to come."

It was clear that Tracey wasn't welcome, not at first at least. The first years were cold to her, having heard off or had the delight of being at the receiving end of the Parkinson bark to whom Tracey was attached by default, and the older years did not take any particular interest to her; she was quiet and mostly stuck by the Muggleborn's side, who, unlike her, had been brought in and mothered by their Team Captain. For someone who had been playing Gobstones only a month, the Muggleborn wasn't terrible, practising when she could, asking questions and demonstrations from older years, and seemingly genuinely interested in their rare collection of Hard Hitters. Perhaps it was because here she was not constantly looked down or hated for something out of her control, but the moment that the Muggleborn stepped into that classroom, Tracey saw a change. It was like watching a flower bloom before your very eyes; she laughed easily, distributed drinks and snacks without a second thought if people around her saw it as it being all she was fit to do, and she had friends.

And Tracey liked the idea of being considered the Muggleborn's sort-of friend. When Dursley (as she was starting to occassionally think of her as) gave her an encouraging smile during a particularly game against Brocolli or passed over a glass of pumpkin juice and tried to start a bit of conversation, it was like it didn't matter that they never really spoke outsid these four walls and they never left the club at the same time. They understood each other. And that was more than Tracey could say about her 'friends'.

"We heard the strangest thing about you today, Tracey."

Tracey continued brushing her teeth, pretending that her heart didn't beat a little faster as she recognised the start of a ganging up of sorts, the malicious glee in Pansy's voice that she knew all too well.

"Something about you going to that Gobstones Club with the Mudblood," Daphne continued. "At first we didn't believe it, did we Pansy? But then, it all made sense. Why you've suddenly gone all quiet on us, why you _say_ you're going to the library and then we can't find you _anywhere_."

"But we just can't believe that you of all people would become a filthy blood traitor," Pansy added. "Millicent is sticking with her own kind and Flint is a half breed who thinks she's pretty, but you – you know better than that, don't you Tracey?"

"Unless, of course, the Mudblood is blackmailing you. Is that it? Has she found something out about you that you can't tell even us?" Daphne was by her side, resting a hand on her arm in mock understanding. Tracey froze. "That's it, isn't it? It's alright, we won't tell anyone. We don't even want to know what it is."

"We just want to make sure that she can't hurt any more of us."

"Mudbloods only have as much power as we give them."

"Don't worry Tracey, she'll be gone soon."

Tracey Davis didn't hate the Muggleborn. But self-preservation is a very Slytherin trait.

* * *

Harry found his cousin the second to last Friday afternoon of term staring at the sign-up sheet for those wishing to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. Harry's name was amongst the first, scrawled in McGonagall's penmanship. Snape had not collected the names for his House – he had simply informed prefects where to direct anyone who should decide to stay. He had better things to do.

"You thinking of missing out on a Dursley Christmas?" he asked.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Daisy answered, though her gaze remained fixed on the sign up list. "Mum's been waiting for me to come home since September. It'll be quite nice to get back to normality for a little while."

"Aunt Petunia sent me a scarf last week," he continued, fingering the red wool nervously. He had hardly taken it off since it had been dropped off at the Gryffindor table by a school barn owl that had dropped a similar package off at the Slytherin table. "You didn't tell her you weren't speaking to me."

"Mum thinks it's great you've found something you're not terrible at. And besides, I figured if she asked you what we'd argued about you might tell her the truth, and it's always best if Mum doesn't know the truth."

"Hermione said you saved me from Snape-"

"I saved you from Quirell," Daisy snapped, finally looking at her cousin. "Which was pretty stupid of me because you went on to catch the stupid Snitch. Should have hexed Granger instead, then you'd have fallen off your broom, and I would have been a hero in my House."

"Then why didn't you?"

She sighed. "Because we're family."

"Do you want to go for a walk?" He hastened to rectify himself as Daisy raised an eyebrow to the miniature blizzard raging behind the Hogwarts walls, bringing a chill that had Filch wandering around trying to unsuccessfully seal every nook and cranny. "I mean – just around the castle. It's just that – I'm sorry, okay? I should have never called you a freak."

"No, no you shouldn't have," Daisy agreed. "It was really mean of you and it hurt my feelings."

"I know. I guessed by the two month silent treatment. But in my defence-"

"Alright, _alright_. I was in the wrong too. Apology accepted. Now, how about we go for that walk?"

It was a long walk that continued all the way until dinner; it turned out that the two had quite a lot to catch up on, given that the rival Houses only ever met in the Potions classroom and that was usually little more than a chaotic shamble of cauldron-melting, courtesy of Neville, Finnegan and Crabbe, who could make even the most stable of potions unstable, much to the chagrin of their Potions professor and the delight of the Slytherin House who were never at the receiving end of the sharp barbs aimed at whoever was taking the blame that lesson.

"This is the Gobstones Club Headquarters," Daisy said, as they passed the classroom that had been transformed for that purpose. "Selena – she's the Captain – says that if I keep practising, I might have a chance of making it on the school team. I'm the best first year in Slytherin she says, _and_ I haven't been playing that long. Says I'm a natural."

"I didn't even know Hogwarts had a Gobstones team," Harry said, peering into the small window of the locked room that revealed nothing more than a large empty classroom with bright tournament posters plastered on the walls and comfy sofas lining the edges. "It looks like a Common Room."

"Loads of people just come to relax and meet people, and no one really cares about House rivalries. The Captain's a Slytherin but you'd never think so, given the number of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaws. Parvati and Lavender drop by quite a bit, but they don't play often – Lavender screams every time she loses. Hasn't played since she challenged Mandy, not knowing she was testing out her latest set of Smelly Gobstones."

Harry happily listened to her chattering; he'd grown up listening to her telling him about everything from her Barbie Adventures to all the gossip that passed her ears about the other girls in her ballet class, whether he wanted to hear it or not, and it felt strangely comforting to be walking by her side again, only needing to nod when she turned to him with a 'Don't you think?' and mutter something encouraging. And it put the fears that had been swirling in his stomach to a temporary rest; he'd heard things, just from catching snatches of conversation from passing Slytherins or from Hermione who'd overheard things in the girls bathroom or caught a glimpse of her running into the Library, and he'd watched her from a distance, seen how she rarely sat with the other first years, always with Millicent wherever there were two seats free, sometimes with the burly Quidditch Captain, and he'd wondered if maybe, just maybe, she _hadn't_ been exaggerating when she said people hated her because of him.

But as they walked, she seemed the usual Daisy, more so now that her hair had reverted to its natural state and she wore it in a long braid that she twirled in her finger as she talked.

"What happened to your hands?" Harry asked suddenly, stopping to take a closer look.

"Just an accident," Daisy said, snatching her hands back. "Potions. What? Don't look at me like that, it was a Potions accident. I threw a bit of a tantrum, and smashed some glass that contained some pretty nasty Potions ingredients. Madam Pomfrey said they'll have faded by the end of the year."

"Does Aunt Petunia know?"

"Of course she knows. Professor Snape had me in detention for like three weeks, and wrote to her about my behaviour and everything. If Muggles could send Howlers…" She sighed. "Can't complain though. If it wasn't for detention, I wouldn't have met Marcus who would have never suggested I join Gobstones Club and I would have nothing else to do with my time besides study."

"You never got detention before."

"Yeah, well. Teachers aren't scared of Dad here. So, what have _you_ been up to?"

"Err, well, where to begin?" Harry said, running a hand through his hair sheepishly. "I imagine you heard about the troll? Well, we – Hermione, Ron and me – we think we've figured something out…"

Daisy listened wide-eyed as Harry recounted his adventures of this past term; she was rather amazed as to how he'd manage to find himself tangled up in what was clearly supposed to be a well-kept secret, and here were a couple of first-years trying to unravel it. So far they had concluded that Professor Snape had let in the troll at Christmas in hopes of being able to get past the three-headed dog and had spent the first half of November limping because of it, and was also responsible for Harry's brush with a deadly fall because of a grudge that had happened way before they were born that explained Snape's increasing hatred towards him.

"Are you sure it's not because you didn't hand in your homework in one time?" Daisy asked, sceptically. "I mean, that he tried to get past the Cerberus guarding whatever it is being guarded, that I can't outright deny – even though he did tell us, his trusted Slytherins, that he slipped on the ice on the way back from the greenhouse to get Potions ingredients – but I just don't get why he'd be trying to kill you."

"And why would Quirell be wanting to kill me?" Harry countered.

"I don't know Harry, but I do know it was _his_ robes I set on fire, and that when he was muttering those incantations, he didn't seem to be stuttering. Isn't it strange that a man who can't even take on a troll can just suddenly counter a jinx strong enough to make a hundred Galleon broom go out of control?"

"Well, maybe they're both in it. If both of them were jinxing me, then it would have worked wouldn't it, even with Quirell stuttering – and Quirell might have let in the troll, but he was doing it so that Snape could try and get past Fluffy!"

"That's…that's ridiculous Harry. Two teachers in this school, sworn to protect you, aren't out to get you – you haven't turned either of their hair blue or turned their coffee into mud-"

"I'm pretty sure that was you," Harry countered.

"-or mysteriously ended up on the roof when the caretaker lost the key ages ago, so they had to call the fire brigade. You've not _done_ anything to make them want to kill you."

"Yeah, that's not stopped people before. You-Know-Whatever-His-Name-Is tried to kill me once; and he managed to kill my parents. I'm not going to sit here and wait to find out if there's a reason or not for them wanting me dead. Hermione says once we find out who Flamel is, the dots might be easier to connect."

"Who's Flamel?"

"No idea."

"I can help, if you want. I kinda don't want you dead."

"Thanks."

During the slow walk back down from where they had reached the Owlery - Harry getting nipped by Harry who she had not seen in awhile - they continued to exchange ideas about what they were going to do once they had found out who Flamel was, at one point entertaining the idea that Quirell was being possessed by a vampire who wanted to suck Harry's blood in order to be immune to the Killing Curse, and if there was anything Harry wanted her to bring back from the Muggle world.

"Are you sure you don't want to come home?" Daisy asked as they drew to a stop outside of the Great Hall, and she had mentally noted to root through Dudley's attic clothes in case there might be something Harry fit into.

"And pass up the chance of a Christmas where Aunt Marge doesn't try and leave me behind somewhere? You're alright, thanks."

"I'll miss you."

"You won't even notice I'm gone."

Christmas at the Dursley household was much like the other festive holidays – Vernon and Petunia indulged their children in more food and material goods than either Daisy or Dudley had need for and Harry was lucky if he even received a season greeting. Christmas was much worse than say Easter or birthdays though, because Uncle Vernon's family usually came to visit. This consisted of Aunt Marge, who always drank too much, said too much and criticized everyone who she deemed not Dursley enough, Uncle Alfred, who drank too much, ate too much and then spent the holidays passed out in the front room refusing to let anyone change the channel, and sometimes Aunt Lizzie and her two annoying brats, Lucas and Amy, would pass by for Christmas dinner if she felt up for the trip, where they would talk too much, eat too much and stay over much too long. And of course, every single Dursley found time to make sure their dislike of Harry was known.

Daisy didn't blame Harry for wanting to stay at Hogwarts, where at least people liked him, even if some only liked him because he was Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived and youngest Quidditch player in a century, Gryffindors hope for the Quidditch Cup. As she packed a week later, Pansy and Daphne arguing in the background about who was the owner of the fuller bottle of _Fitzburg's Hair Bliss Limited Edition Summer Serum_, Daisy thought of all of the bad things the Dursley's had done to Harry over the years at Christmas, supposedly a time of family, love and giving.

There was of course the infamous orphanage incident, where on Boxing Day they had gone to exchange a gift that Dudley had wanted to one he had had seen on television early that morning, leaving Harry behind with Aunt Marge who took matters into her own hands and took Harry to an orphanage. It was hours before the Dursleys returned and even longer before Aunt Marge finally confessed where she had taken the poor boy. She seemed adamant that wherever he was, good riddance. It was Daisy's earliest memory of seeing her mother angry, one of the few times she ever allowed her carefully maintained composure to crack. They found him still standing where Aunt Marge had left him, shivering by the edge of the road, refusing to go in. Harry was only six at the time.

"_How dare you! How DARE you! Vernon, I want that woman out of my house!" Petunia screamed, as she carried Harry into the house, setting him down in front of the radiator, running upstairs to find some blankets to wrap him up him. She wasn't just angry, she was livid, so much so that her hands shook as she wrapped blankets around the six year old staring at her. She thought she could detect a hint of gratitude in those bright green eyes._

"_I was doing you a favour," Aunt Marge said flippantly, pouring herself another glass of wine. "There's something wrong with the boy. He's so quiet, he just sits there, blinking at me behind those spectacles. Who's to say he wasn't dropped on your doorstep by the devil?"_

"_Because he is my sister's son! This is my nephew, my own flesh and blood and you dare come into my home and take him from me!"_

_Harry sat there, silent as usual, unused to this attention that his aunt was giving him. She rarely looked at him or touched him, not since she had decided he was old enough not to be mollycoddled anymore, but here she was holding him close, hugging the blankets tight around him. He still thought he might never stop shivering. _

"_I dared to take him away from Dudley and Daisy, _my_ flesh and blood. Vernon would never do anything about it, you have him too wrapped around your little finger for that, but I can tell bad blood when I see it, and that boy is it."_

"_You can't see anything past your wine glass," Petunia spat. Marge had always disapproved of her, treating her with the same disdain that her family had shown when she brought Vernon home. However, she liked to think that had Lily been alive, she would have never dropped her Dudley off at an orphanage, even if he was a little demanding for his age. "Vernon! I want her out of the house this minute."_

"_Petunia, please be reasonable. You said it yourself, the boy's a freak, just like-"_

"_Then _I_ will stamp it out of the boy. But I will not leave a six year old boy in the freezing cold-"_

"_If he had sense he would have gone into the orphanage-"_

"_If your parents had any sense they would have had you put down, just like one of your dogs!"_

"_Well, I never-! Are you going to let her talk to your sister like that? Vernon! Vernon, do something!"_

"_Petunia, calm yourself down-"_

_Petunia Dursley did not calm herself down. Instead she picked up her nephew, who blankets and all was still lighter than her Dudley dearest who was up in his room more concerned with his new toys, beckoned to Daisy who was sat in an armchair, watching the whole scene quietly, trying to understand why her Mummy was so angry. Harry was okay now._

"_If that woman is not out of my house in an hour, I am gone Vernon. I will take Daisy, Dudley and Harry and you will never see me again."_

"_Good riddance!" Marge huffed. "Let's see what a common Northern trollop will do out there on her own with three mouths to feed! Go on!"_

"_Margery, please," Vernon said, watching his wife's determined expression, her hold around her nephew the tightest he had seen in ever and his daughter's curious blue eyes peering from round her mother's skirt. "Petunia, let's talk about this."_

_Petunia shook her head. "There's nothing to talk about Vernon."_

"_Insubordination! Absolute rudeness!" Marge squealed at her sister-in-laws retreating back. "Vernon, this would have never happened if you'd married Grace Forsyth like Mummy intended you to! At least _her_ money wasn't all pretend."_

"_Don't push it Marge – you're in my house now-"_

"_And whatever Princess Petunia says you ask how high!"_

_As a row broke out below, Daisy watched her mother attempts to warm up her cousin curiously. She didn't like it but she understood somewhere that Harry was family too and this was normal – aunts gave their nephews cuddles too when they were cold and sad. She hoped they didn't have to leave and was delighted to go downstairs an hour later to find cookies and milk on the table for her and Dudley and no Aunt Marge. _

Her mother had since then sworn that no such a scene ever occurred, she would never leave her father, and if it was not embedded in Daisy's memory, she would have sworn so too, for Aunt Marge came back the following Christmas bearing wine and gifts. That was the year she bought Ripper, and even as a puppy he liked to chase Harry around, who spent most of Christmas in his cupboard. No one ever seemed to find it weird that Harry was living in the cupboard under the stairs – Daisy remembered when she went through a phase of wanting to live in a cupboard too. She threw tantrums of equal magnitude to her brother, but neither parent relented. Good girls like her had to sleep in pretty bedrooms and bad boys like Harry had to live in cupboards full of icky spiders and that's just the way it was.

Then there was the time Uncle Alfred almost set Harry's hair on fire by using him as an ash tray. Aunt Petunia banned all smoking from the house that year. It was another four Christmas' before Uncle Alfred returned, swearing he had quit though he could still be found in the garden, complaining about missing his favourite show as if he wasn't to blame for the cigarette in his hand. Aunt Lizzie was nice, as far as Dursleys went – a widow, she spent most of the time telling them what her Thomas would have said or done were if he were there at the moment. She attacked Harry's hair more often and with more gusto than Aunt Petunia ever did.

"If my Thomas was here," she would say, taking Harry (with Aunt Petunia's permission of course, because even if they didn't talk about it, everyone knew of the Christmas of 1986), marching him to the barbers and demanding they do something about 'that rubbish' whilst indicating to the thick dark hair on Harry's head. It always grew back by New Year.

Perhaps that's why she was determined that her Lucas have minimal hair on his head at all times. Lucas was Dudley's partner in crime (and notably, equal in build) when it came to using Harry as boxing practise or blaming him for the pudding that ended up on the floor in pieces when Harry was upstairs being forced to have tea with the girls. Just because Daisy and Amy didn't give him bruises for Christmas presents, that did not mean they were beyond opening presents and then blaming him for it.

Though everyone probably knew it wasn't true, by common consensus, everything that went wrong at Christmas was Harry's fault. No wonder he wanted to be as far away from Privet Drive as possible.

* * *

_**A/N**: I quite like this chapter for all the reasons I think I (and others) might also dislike it. Also feels quite odd to be posting a Christmas chapter in July, ha. Let me know what you think, and as always, thank you for reading!_


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Dudley could always tell when his sister was lying.

And as he sat in the back of his mother's car, half-heartedly trying to beat his Tetris high score for lack of better things to do on their way back to Privet Drive whilst half-listening to the conversation going on between the two, he could tell that all that his sister was telling them about Hogwarts was one big fat lie. Firstly, it was very rare that Daisy did not complain about everything and anything, but from the sounds of it, Hogwarts was a dream school. The food was brilliant, her fellow students were great and she'd made loads of friends and she didn't speak to Harry much because they were all so busy having such a gay old time they couldn't even stop to think. Secondly, Daisy did not usually need to be prompted in order to start jabbering away about things that he did not care about (and their Mum too much), but today she sat quietly until a question was thrown her way, as if she was making an inventory of her lies so that they made sense and she would not be caught out. And finally, Dudley could tell because Daisy was his twin, and twins could tell such things about each other.

Now all he needed to do was figure out _why_ she was lying. And then tell Mum and Dad. He was well on his way to becoming their Favourite Twin and the uncovering of this lie would make up for his impromptu mid-term suspension which really hadn't been his fault. Some people just ask for a good beating.

"Oi Dudley, how's Smeltings?"

Dudley cursed inwardly as he did not twist the L shaped block fast enough. "It's really good, exactly what Dad always said it's be like." He had ruined his entire game. "Brilliant."

"Great."

As he started again from Level One, Dudley wondered if Daisy, who had gone back to silently staring out of the window, could tell he was lying too.

* * *

Dudley loved midnight snacks.

His months at Smelting's had not changed this, if not made this habit of padding across the carpeted landing, skipping the third from bottom step that creaked, and targeting leftover goods with the quiet, swift movements not expected from the hefty young man, even more proficient. The Smelting's kitchens weren't meant to be accessed by students. And after the welcome home banquet prepared by his mother, there was sure to be more than enough for him to feast on and quell the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. So focused on this routine, he did not notice the quiet murmur of the television until its flickering lights caught his attention.

"Daisy?"

The dark lump of blankets stirred and a pale face peeked over the sofa, blonde hair a static blue. This was new. Never had his night time prowls been interrupted by her – he often ran into one of his parents; his father having fallen asleep watching the ten o'clock news and yet to move or his mother might sometimes be found sitting at the kitchen table, lost in her own little world or trying to find salvation at the bottom of an ice cream tub.

"What are you doing?" Dudley whispered.

"I couldn't sleep," she whispered back. "What are you doing?"

"I got hungry. Want anything?"

"Cake and custard please."

There was only the occasional clinking as he manoeuvred around his mother's pristine kitchen, aided by the fact that everything was always where it was meant to be. Daisy accepted her bowl of Triple Chocolate Fudge Smarties Surprise cake sinking in delicious chocolate custard gratefully, shuffling over so her brother could join her. She was watching _Rocky_, their father's favourite franchise, the first one being his go-to film for something to fall asleep to on a Sunday afternoon.

"I thought you hated Rocky," Dudley commented.

"No, _Mum_ hates it," Daisy countered. "And you and Dad always tell me I can't watch it."

It wasn't as good with the sound so low, but it still beat having only his mind as company as he devoured the food before him. Dudley had honestly always thought that Daisy hated anything that he liked, just as he hated anything that she liked. That's how things worked in this house. Or used to work. He glanced over at his sister who was only half way through her cake, picking the layers apart in the bowl before bringing a tiny bit to her mouth. He hated when his mother and sister ate like that; food was meant to be _eaten_, not dissected and played with and stared at and analysed. There was a fine line between savouring it and being plain silly, and he found that they often crossed it. Of course, then there was Aunt Marge who savoured everything excessively and was rather loud as she did so.

As Daisy leaned forward to place her empty bowl on top of his, Dudley realised he could count on one hand the number of times he'd just sat with his sister like this. No bickering, no whining, no trying to get one up on the other, no fighting for something; he'd always wished Daisy was a boy so maybe he'd feel closer to her, understand her more, have someone who wasn't scrawny and four eyed to actually play with rather than use as practise for strategic planning. Though he would never admit it, cornering a freak with the comparative speed of a cheetah and the size of a mouse required more brainpower than one might think.

"What's Hogwarts like?" Dudley whispered into the silence of the living room. The fight had been almost won, the credits had rolled, the neon lettering of AV1 blaring in the dark. For a moment he thought that she might have fallen asleep, but he could see light eyes shining in the room lit by the orange glow of the streetlights. "What's it _really_ like?"

"It's…it's…"

To his horror, instead of the reluctant truth telling of Little Miss Perfect not being so perfect after all, or a sharp rebuke of it being none of his business, his sister began to _cry_. Not the kind of crying she'd always done because they were fully aware that it was the best way to get something, or because she wanted sympathy or attention or to get him in trouble. No, this was the kind of crying that made him uneasy, that made his heart ache like after way too much McDonald's (always his father's treat because his mother _loathed_ McDonald's) but even worse because he knew that a few hours of lying down wouldn't do anything to help her – whatever about that school that had silent sobs racking her body, wiping at her eyes with her sleeves to no avail, would still be upsetting her.

He racked his brain for things to say, comforting words that he saw older brothers utter on television to their distraught baby sisters, but found them hollow at the tip of his tongue, and his hands stayed in his lap, unable to reach over and comfort her because he'd never had to before. He'd always ran to get an adult when she was hurt, let his mother deal with her distress because she had not gotten the lead part she had practised until she bled in order to get, and counted on his father's ability to just make everything alright with a few choice words. Being born a few minutes earlier had given him a right to a title he had claimed but now he was faced with the responsibilities that came with it, he was overwhelmed.

If he had been one of those real big brothers, he would have pulled her close, and rubbed her back like Mum did when they were upset. He would have said soothing things like 'It'll be alright' even if it was whopping great lie, and asked her what was wrong, told her that he was there for her, that he'd find a way to make it better because no one but him made his sister cry. And he would have listened and not let his mind wander to trivial things like breakfast and he wouldn't have minded that she'd gotten snot and tears all over his pyjama sleeves because that's what big brothers were for.

But he wasn't her big brother, he was her twin, just as lost and confused and upset as she was, but he was a boy and boys weren't allowed to cry. He wished she would just stop already.

He didn't know when she stopped crying nor did he know when he'd fallen asleep; all he knew was that he awoke to the smell of Christmas breakfast and she was gone.

* * *

Petunia Dursley was a mother.

She noticed that something was wrong with her daughter the minute she stepped off of the scarlet train, glistening in the dark evening downpour. Even in all the layers that she wore, Petunia could see that Daisy had lost weight and that it was not simply due to the fact that her dark-haired friend was about twice as wide and a good head taller. Petunia noticed the lingering hug, as if it might be an uncertain goodbye, and then tried not to purse her lips as she watched her daughter's measured walk and the way she stiffened at _her_ hug and the way her smile never reached her eyes. Daisy's answers were short and devoid of any information, much like the missives that the differing owls had delivered over the course of the past months, and she did not even look put out that her father did not offer her more by way of greeting than an grunt and a wave from the sofa. Despite her occasional smile and her healthy appetite, Petunia still got the sense that something was off.

"But Daisy darling, it's Christmas-"

"And therefore it is _cold_!" Daisy snapped back, pushing away the fifth dress that Petunia had suggested. "I don't understand why I can't wear this jumper."

"But Daisy honey, it's absolutely hideous," Petunia tried, unable to comprehend why her beautiful angel would suddenly want to wear the reindeer monstrosity gifted to her by her Aunt Lizzie, Vernon's sister-in-law. "And this velvet dress is absolutely darling. Won't you even try it on?"

"No! We are going to a dinner in a draughty hall and then going to pretend we all care what the priest has to say for two whole hours and then stand around talking to people we hate. I don't want to do that in a _dress_!"

Petunia watched her daughter stomp away, flinching as she heard the bathroom door slam shut. Never had Daisy refused to wear something that she'd picked out for her, especially not for Christmas. Christmas Eve had been one of the many occasions that they found in order to get together, a little girl time if you will; they took their time getting dressed as the men of the house sat in front of the television, waiting until there was five minutes to go before shoving on their best suits and running a brush through their hair. Daisy had always sat on her parent's bed, watching her mother's reflection in the mirror, proclaiming that she couldn't wait until she was old enough to dress up like a grown up, and wear pearl necklaces and paint her lips a subtle coral instead of the clear lipgloss she'd gotten for her birthday. Then when Petunia had given own her hair a final pat, Daisy would eagerly take her place so that she could have a dab of powder on the nose, and her hair fixed into a pretty fishtail or whatever design her mother had picked up this season.

But something had changed, and as she leaned on the bathroom door trying to coax out this sullen stranger, she choked back the tears at the familiarity of this; of watching someone she loved dearly disappear into a strange world she could not follow and returning someone completely different. All children grow up, she told herself as they negotiated a less hideous red and green jumper dotted with miniature white baubles and a black skirt tied with a large satin bow. This sudden withdrawal into herself, this jumpiness when touched, it was all part of her growing up.

* * *

Well versed in the art of denial, Petunia tried to put it all to the back of her mind, focusing instead on preparing her usual Christmas Day dinner extravaganza, with all the trimmings and much more of course, because there was no denying that the Dursley family were a ravenous bunch, and the meagre offerings that they did bring with them no one ever seemed to touch. Whilst acknowledging that her food was far superior than anything a Dursley could ever prepare – they lacked the refinement, the delicate touch and tended to throw everything into heavy stews – it would have been nice to have more than five minutes to spare around the Christmas tree. This year, given that Harry was all the way up in Hogwarts, she could only spare three minutes at a push. She always savoured this moment: Christmas morning as Daisy and Dudley opened up their twenty-five presents, their little faces lighting up brighter than the Christmas decorations. Vernon had almost refused to buy Daisy her usual lot, mumbling something about freaks and whatnots; she'd almost refused to cook until he gave in. He gave in when he realised he didn't know how to defrost leftovers. There were times when Petunia couldn't help but wonder if the only thing that kept a roof over her head was her husband's inability to feed himself.

"Merry Christmas Dudley," Daisy said, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, once again in a hideous jumper that, if Petunia recalled correctly, had actually been Dudley's a few years ago. It featured a grinning Santa and his reindeer, and was much too large on her, hands barely visible through the sleeves.

"Merry Christmas, Daisy," Dudley parroted, handing over the customary gift that heralded the start of the present opening. It was a tradition that had been around ever since they could remember, and held true for birthdays and Christmas; they'd give each other gifts that they didn't know what was in them and pretend to care.

It was the usual load: Dudley a fresh set of games, a modelling kit he was pretty sure he was never going to use because that was for losers and he wasn't a loser, several tins of chocolate and sweets – enough to see him through the holidays if he rationed them well - a new coat to replace the one he'd manage to rip at the arms because he was growing faster than the space his mother always allowed for him to grow into and a mini-television that looked slightly sturdier than the normal television he'd put his foot through last year, and Daisy unwrapped the usual load of glitter and dresses and hair clips. She'd long stopped asking why Santa had never sent her the chemistry sets, football and books that she asked for, and instead feigned gratitude at her subtle moulding of her parents' expectations.

"Thanks Mum," Daisy smiled, brandishing her new cookbook. "Can I make the New Year treats this year? I swear I won't wreck the kitchen. Is this recipe hard?" She was pointing to the Millionaire Shortbread. Petunia responded in the negative before the timer pulled her attention back to the kitchen. "I wonder if she sent something to Harry as well."

"Why should she?" Dudley asked, looking up from where he was battling with the seal around his tin of Quality Streets. He didn't understand why all of a sudden all his favourite foods had this horrible hard to remove plastic around it.

"Because she's his aunt."

"Never got him a Christmas present before."

"Well, that was before, wasn't it? Here, give that to me." Daisy snatched the tin out of her brothers hands before he could protest, and set out looking for the overlap. "Besides, she sent us all a scarf. Even him."

"I lost mine," Dudley said, gratefully accepting the tin back from his sister. "It was a really nice yellow as well. And mine was the only hand-knitted one, 'cos Mum's not like all the other Smelting mums. She's got time for us."

"What are all the other Smeltings mums like?"

"Rich." Dudley continued to chew at the caramel pensively, loving the feel of his jaw working to obliterate it. "Like, not Little Whinging rich – like Windsor, Ascot rich. The way they look at you – it's like they've got a piece of poo under their nose, just because you didn't go to a prep school with their darling Tommy." He reached for another piece. "Wouldn't wanna go to their stupid prep schools anyway. Had loads of fun at Stonewall Primary."

"Are there other kids there who didn't go to prep school?" Daisy asked, opening a jar of glitter carefully, wondering she was going to do with it. Put it in Parkinson's face cream with a Permanent Sticking Adhesive? At least now she had magic she could prod her gifts into something more to her liking.

"Well, there's the Scholarship boys but they're either always studying or on the Rugby team. I'm the only non-Scholarship non-prep boy in my year. But at least Dad went to Smeltings before, so it kind of makes up for it." He put two pieces in his mouth at once. "Wha-bout you?"

"Well, my luck has it that I was Sorted into the House with some of the wealthiest kids in Britain – well, _their_ side of Britain, you know what I mean?" Dudley nodded his understanding, momentarily unable to speak through his silly decision to take on two Caramels at once. "There are four Houses at Hogwarts – Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Slytherin's mine, the most selective House with some snot nosed kids who make me want to punch them in the face, and Harry's in Gryffindor which is just full of – I don't even know. Let's see, I know his best friend, Weasley, he's really poor. He's got like seven brothers or something, so their parents can't really afford them. And I know two girls, but I don't think they count because they're like the Slytherin lot, but a little poorer…"

"Kids in your House mean to you because you're not as rich as them?"

"No," Daisy said, not looking up from her presents, now tracing the pattern of the sequins on a new dress. "The kids in my House are mean to me because my parents are – because they're normal. And I'm the only one with both parents who are normal."

"It sucks being the only one, doesn't it?"

She tucked her hands into the sleeves of the jumper.

"Yeah, it really does."

* * *

The afternoon heralded the arrival of the Dursley party for the customary Christmas dinner.

First to arrive was Aunt Marge, brandishing wine and whiskey for the adults and presents for her nieces and nephews. Thankfully, she never brought Ripper at Christmas anymore, because Aunt Lizzie hated dogs and besides Amy was apparently allergic. The first order of business was to give her favourite nephew an extra twenty quid and to demand that Daisy start to fill the house with continuous renditions of 'Jingle Bells' that she could sing along to. Uncle Alfred, Vernon's bachelor brother arrived next, bringing with him his customary tins of biscuits and after-dinner chocolates, greeting them all warmly before excusing himself for the first of many smokes. Last, but not least came Elizabeth Dursley, widow to the late Thomas Dursley and mother of Lucas, aged _almost thirteen now, Uncle Vernon_, and Amy, who was already sick of being the last of the cousins not in secondary school.

"Why are you wearing that horrible jumper?" Aunt Lizzie asked, as Daisy thanked her Uncle for the second-hand Tolkien books, hoping that she wouldn't return from Hogwarts to find them gone.

"You gave it to me, Aunt Lizzie," Daisy responded, ignoring her mother's pointed look. They'd had another argument related to her latest choices in fashions just moments before Aunt Marge arrived. "I thought it was…quite Christmas-y."

"It kind of hurts my eyes," Amy said, brown eyes squinting at the jumper covered in rainbow Santas and snowmen. "Why don't you wear your new jumper? It's a lot prettier. We can be twins."

"I'll try it on later. Besides, I've already got a twin."

Amy looked over at Dudley where he was engaged in a cracker sword fight with her brother and sniffed. "He doesn't _look_ like your twin."

"Well nor do you silly, you have dark hair, like your mum and Harry."

At the mention of Harry, Aunt Marge perked up. She loved to terrorise that boy to bits. "Where is the boy, Vernon? Finally got some sense into you and put him in an orphanage where he belongs?"

"He's at that Centre I was telling you about, and that's where he stays," Vernon quickly explained. "It's better for all of us – we get some respite, and they try and instil some decency into him. Don't think it'll work, mind you. His teachers say he'll be there awhile."

"What's the Centre for, Vernon?" Uncle Alfred asked, not batting an eyelid when Petunia spritzed him with an air freshener. It was a small price to pay for smoking privileges.

"It's for criminal boys. You know what he's like, always skulking about, all quiet. It's because he's always looking out for things to steal, ways to get into trouble without getting caught. We're well rid."

"And you said that boy was harmless," Aunt Marge said to her least-favourite sister-in-law, a gleeful gleam in her dull blue eyes. "Someone who ends up in a Centre doesn't sound harmless to me. At least my brother here, has some sense."

"I think we have a rather different view of the word sense, _Margery_," Petunia answering, offering a tight-lipped smile. "If you'd all like to come to the table, dinner is served."

There were the usual oohs and aahs over the Christmas spread, and Petunia fell easily into the role of dishing out food, pursing her lips at Vernon's overactive turkey carving and prompting people to help themselves; there was certainly plenty to go around. She liked to indulge herself at Christmas, smiling at Dudley as she passed back the gravy, and he smiled back because it was the one time of the year that his mother allowed her one serving to actually fill the plate.

"So tell me about this new school of yours," Aunt Lizzie said to Daisy, once they were all served and tucking in. "You got a scholarship, didn't you?"

"It's great," Daisy smiled, trying to ignore the subconscious twitching of her father's moustache. "The academic program is really different to most though. There's a heavy emphasis on Sciences and then you don't really get into Maths until third year, and they don't have a dance or music program which is a shame really. Were you thinking of sending Amy there?"

"Oh goodness, no. I couldn't stand the idea of my children being away for so long. Yes, Vernon, if Thomas was here Lucas would probably be at Smeltings, but he isn't so I prefer to have them come home every day so I don't miss a single bit of their growing up."

Her decision not to send Lucas to the school he belonged, where his father had gone, had caused some outrage with the more traditional components of the family. It had been expected, to continue a tradition that had been fought with blood and iron to establish, ensuring that the Dursley name would become a regular amongst the alumni. And Lizzie had gone and fudged that up. As Vernon helped himself to more roast potatoes, he contemplated whether he was more angry at his wife to sending his daughter to some freak show or his sister-in-law for sending a Dursley male to anywhere but Smeltings.

"It isn't – isn't our Lady of Grace a Catholic school?" Uncle Alfred asked over his Brussels sprouts.

Daisy nodded. "There are still some nuns about. We even have a monk teaching Chemistry. He's a little foul-tempered, but he knows what he's teaching." It took all Daisy's strength not to laugh as she caught her mother's raised eyebrow.

"I could tell you a thing or two about Catholics," Aunt Marge said, pouring herself another glass of wine. "No offense, but…"

Whilst Aunt Marge and Uncle Alfred debated whether Hitler had it right to try and exterminate the Jews when there were Catholics to be dealing with, the boys played footsy under the table and Amy continued to drill Daisy about this imaginary school filled with nuns and monks where they had to use quills to write by candlelight. The remaining adults tried to get onto less politically incorrect grounds of conversation to no avail. Christmas crackers did bring the conversation to calmer grounds, even if it brought excitement amongst the younger members of the family.

"_Mum_! Lucas has a pink crown! I want a pink crown!"

"No way, little baby. I'm the King of the Crackers," Lucas said, striking a pose with his muscle flexed and the pink paper crown perched on his short dark hair.

"More like the Queen of the Crackers," Dudley snorted.

"What did you say?"

"Boys," Aunt Lizzie said warningly, not that it made much difference to the narrowed eyes. Every year, without fail, there had to be a fight. "Give your sister the crown."

"She can have mine," Daisy offered, handing over her green crown. Amy promptly turned her nose up at it. "Or she can swap it with Lucas. Though pink _really_ suits him."

"You look really pretty Luke," Dudley grinned. "I wish I was as pretty as you."

"Shut up!"

"Lucas!"

"That's not a very lady-like thing to say, is it, Lucas?"

Daisy gasped as she felt her glass of orange juice toppling all over her - Lucas having sprang to his feet and knocked the table sending her already precariously placed beverage straight into her. A Dursley through and through, he was easy to wind up and with his large stature keen to shut up anyone who did, even over little comments as to how adorable he was. It was chaos as the two men tried to calm the two boys and Petunia fussed over Daisy, though secretly glad for a reason to shove that jumper at the bottom of the deepest laundry basket also known as a bin, and Aunt Lizzie consoling Amy of the loss of the pink crown to Lucas' temper.

"I'll go get changed," Daisy said, relieved for any excuse to leave the scene.

"She should wear her new jumper," Aunt Lizzie said, spotting an opportunity to diffuse the tension. "Dudley, be a dear and take the jumper up to your sister."

"But-"

"Listen to your Aunt, Dudley," Petunia said, pushing her son towards the living room where the dark green spangled jumper had been left amidst Aunt Marge's explanation that Lucas wouldn't be so quick-tempered if he'd gone to a proper school – none of those wishy-washy comprehensives.

"Wasn't it their quick tempers that got Alfred and Thomas kicked out of Smeltings in the first place?" Aunt Lizzie countered as she helped Petunia to clear the plates for dessert. "And to think they give teenage boys sticks – that's not character-building, that's just _asking_ for trouble!"

Marge was indignant. "No, it's to separate the men from the Nancy's and my Dudley is quite clearly not a Nancy. As for your Lucas-"

"I am not a Nancy!" Lucas snapped. "Just 'cos it's pink and it's on a boy doesn't mean there's anything wrong with that. We learnt at school-"

"See, wishy-washy liberal sentiments sending the country down the drain! It's all this New Labour trot-"

"I know you were quite fond of Maggie, Marge," Uncle Alfred meditated, "But you have to admit her politics – on _anything_ to be frank – left much to be desired –"

Bump.

"What was that?"

There was another bump, and the flicker of the light indicated that it was coming from upstairs. Leaving the pile of dirty plates, Petunia followed her husband upstairs, swiftly (not so swiftly in Aunt Marge's case) followed by curious family members to root out the source of the noise. Shouts could be heard as they drew closer to Daisy's room, and the sound of something like a lamp crashing down. She didn't know what she expected to see when Vernon pushed open the door, but it was certainly not a red-faced Daisy straddling her brother, one hand holding onto his shirt, the other curled into a fist, menacingly drawn back.

"If you tell Mum, I swear-"

"If he tells Mum _what_?" Petunia had drawn herself to her full height, and stalking into the room, dragged Daisy off her brother, who was equally red-faced. His shirt had a few buttons missing and Daisy's new jumper was torn. "Well?"

None of them spoke, taking interest in their feet instead.

"Well answer your mother!" Vernon boomed. "You girl, what did you think you were doing?"

"Dudley started it," Daisy sulked.

"I did _not_!" Dudley snapped back. "Mum, Daisy's been-"

"What on _Earth_ has gotten into you!"

Daisy struggled against her mother's hold as she lunged for her brother again. Noticing the audience hovering outside the door, Vernon closed the door and approached Dudley, his voice a comforting low tone.

"Dudley, tell your father what your sister's been up to."

"She's-"

Daisy lunged forward again, but could not twist out of her mother's surprisingly strong, and rather painful, hold. "You tell them Dudley," she warned instead, blue eyes locked in an unspoken argument, "and I am _never_ speaking to you again! You hear me? Never!"

"Stop it!" Petunia commanded, shaking her daughter to a standstill. "You will behave yourself, and Duddikins, you will tell Daddy what your sister is so keen for us not to know."

"She…" Dudley began, turning back to his father now who had an expectant hand on his shoulder. It was easier to ignore the murderous glower that way. "She did _you-know-what_."

"WHAT?"

If the Evans-Dursley children had seemed red-faced, it was nothing to the lovely shade of puce that Vernon could turn when he was absolutely livid.

* * *

_Petunia,_

_If I had a Galleon for every parent that accused me of returning to them a different child to the one they waved off four months prior, I would have quite a tidy sum to my name and I could call an end to my obligations to respond with words of assurances that it is quite normal for children to appear different when you have been parted from them for that amount of time. It is called growing up. And if I had an additional one for every name under the Sun that I have been, and continue to be, called, Gringotts would be on the verge of declaring bankruptcy._

_If your daughter appears thinner, it is because she neglects to feed herself. If she appears more temperamental, perhaps it is the years of your own parenting coming to fruition. Parenting, that if you had somehow forgotten, led to the destruction of my classroom including a collection of ingredients and specimens that if I were to demand repayment for would leave you, and your husband, on the verge of declaring bankruptcy. _

_I suggest that you try talking to her. It is a tactic that most parents seem unable to comprehend and yet tends to often provide results. _

_Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master  
Head of Hogwarts' House of Slytherin_

"Why the nerve of that man-"

Petunia crumpled up the letter and tucked it at the bottom of the laundry that she was currently carrying. The start of the new term was fast approaching, and clothes needed to be ironed, new clothes not forgotten and Harry apparently needed new clothes. The clothes that might actually fit him (as Daisy had emphasised) from their time in the attic were either covered with dust, held a slight hint of mould or there was that jacket that she unearthed which had been home to a family of spiders; nothing a good wash couldn't get rid of.

Talk to her indeed, Petunia sniffed. Clearly the advice of a man who had never had children of his own. She would have more luck talking to her frying pan. Oh, she'd talked to the twins after their father was through berating them for ruining Christmas dinner alright, Daisy more so than Dudley. Dudley insisted he'd walked in on Daisy performing magic, making her clothes fold themselves, whilst Daisy merely looked at the floor and said she wanted to trade families and that boys sucked, but no more. On the surface it did appear as if the incident had pushed them further apart. They barely spoke to each other, that much was true, sitting at their respective places at the family table, eating at their respective paces and mumbling their respective thanks, and then Daisy would retire to her bedroom and Dudley to his and the whole cycle would start again the next day.

"I told you this was going to happen," Vernon would grumble as he stared at the two empty seats and the silence that had been brought by their lack of bickering. "I bloody well told you, didn't I?"

But Petunia could see beyond this; she noticed that Daisy had gone from wearing her own jumpers to Dudley's and not just his old jumpers – only that morning she'd been wearing his _Back To The Future_ jumper, and he loved that jumper even if the lettering had grown cracked and faded and fit him a little too snuggly these days. She noticed that the sweet wrappers in Dudley's room weren't all from the kind of sweets you could get in your local Woolworths and when she found him asleep on the sofa in the mornings, at first she couldn't understand why there was always two of everything.

And, of course, she knew damn well that first years weren't allowed to use magic outside of school.

"Duddikins," Petunia called as she stopped at her son's room. She could hear the faint sound of the portable television, though if his complaints were anything to go by it was only a matter of time before Dudley got his full-size television back. "Can Mummy come in to drop some clothes off?"

She took the lack of grumblings as consent, and balancing the laundry basket on her hip pushed open the door. Her eyes narrowed at the mess; she'd only tidied up yesterday, and he'd grumbled that morning at her chastising that he'd try and pick up after himself. Clearly that had not happened, and he was in the process of adding another smile pile of rubbish next to his bed as he watched the Brookside Omnibus out of laziness (the downstairs television was too far) and lack of better things to do (that he wanted to do).

"Pumpkin, what has Mummy said about tidying up after yourself?" she continued, stepping over the pile of last night's clothes, and sighing at the mess that had already been made of the cupboard. "I have other things to do besides clean up after you."

"Then stop cleaning my room," Dudley mumbled. "It's my room, not your kitchen. Maybe I want everything to not be where it's supposed to be."

"Don't be silly, darling."

As the start of the school year drew closer, or perhaps as the twins spent more time apart, Dudley grew more sullen too, reminiscent of the week he'd been suspended and it had just been argument after argument with his father about not wanting to go back to that stupid school and ripping up the dry cleaning ticket for his uniform. Lots of door-slamming had been involved and though she had been worried, Vernon had a rather broad definition of character-building. Maybe she'd write to Dudley's Head of Year, see if she wouldn't get a less sarcastic response to his son's current progress at the school.

"Ah, score! You actually left the door open for me this time. Here you go – extra milky, extra-sugary tea plus the last double pack of Chocolate Digestives. I told you I could hide them from you if I wanted to."

From her vantage point behind the open wardrobe door, yet to be noticed, Petunia watched Daisy walk into her brother's room, balancing packets biscuits and two cups of tea which she shoved sweet wrappers to the floor in order to place on the bedside cabinet. Her stance was much more relaxed than Petunia had seen all holiday, her grin at her brother's scowl verging on genuine and for a moment it was looking at her baby again, before all this magic nonsense. She was as surprised to see Daisy inviting herself onto her brother's bed to partake in Brookside watching as Daisy was to see her mother standing in the room, clothes in her hand mid-fold.

"Mum! I thought – have you already been to the dry cleaners?"

"I didn't see the need for both of us to go," Petunia explained, narrowing her eyes at this new habit of Daisy's: tucking her hands into her sleeves whenever someone spoke to her. "I have enough to do here. I hope my kitchen isn't a mess."

"I think I can make a cup of tea without making a mess, Mum," Daisy answered, her tone snappish. "You know what? I think I'll go do some reading. I have some homework I should probably finish anyway."

"Nonsense, finish your tea and biscuits and then you can help your brother clean up his room."

"I want it messy," Dudley replied through his mouthful of crumbs. "So leave it messy."

Daisy flicked off the crumbs that landed on her arm. "You're disgusting Dudley."

"You're annoying Daisy."

"Ow – _Mum_!"

"I'm not here," Petunia said, as she picked up the laundry basket, and crossed the toys and clothes and rubbish littering the dark blue carpeted floor. In a couple of days there would be no more carpet left. "Don't ruin your appetites. I'm making lasagne for dinner."

She left the twins quietly bickering, Daisy trying to mush a biscuit into her brother's face as retaliation for him trying to kick her off the bed through the covers, for once quite happy to let them get on with it since she had been right all along. The incident had brought her babies closer, and that could only mean one thing: there was a secret.

Something bigger than pretending not to know where all the mince pies went or why Lucas' shoes were suddenly filled with melted Turkish Delight. It was something that required an elaborate pretence of being angry – after all, Dudley was supposed to have revealed a secret and Daisy was supposed to be so angry at this betrayal that she could never speak to him again for doing so, but here she was making him tea – without prompting - and they were actually getting on in their own way. What did Dudley know about his sister that he wasn't letting on? What was it that he had chosen to keep secret rather than betray his sister's trust? Why did he even care about his sister's trust? When had they grown closer? _How_?

Setting down the laundry on the counter above the washing machine, Petunia massaged her temples gingerly. One thing was for sure: if she took any more painkillers, she was going to overdose.

* * *

_**A/N:** There we have it! A Dursley Christmas. I have quite a fondness for the Dursley family, but I think that might be me reacting rebelliously to their general image. Not saying they're not rotten, and a convenient stepping stone to greater things, just saying that there's more to them, especially Dudley. He's a bully, but he's also more than that. In this fictional world, he's also a brother and slowly growing up too, learning what that means amongst other things. _


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

"Excited?"

Daisy looked up from the crouching position she had adopted as she perused the bottom shelves of the library in search of the information that might be of use in regards to the latest attempt at prolonged torture that Professor McGonagall so fondly called essays.

"_Why_ would I be excited for Defence Against the Dark Arts?" she asked, giving the blonde Gryffindor a curious look as she straightened up, brushing dusty hands on her open school robes. "It's Quirell."

"No, silly," Lavender said, clicking her tongue. "For what comes _after_. Susie's really excited though she knows you're a lot better than her, but of course Mandy thinks that because _she_ can calculate the angles of trajectory or whatever she does she's a shoe in but _everyone_ knows that you're Selena's favourite - _Why_ are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I have no idea what you're on about."

"You can't have forgotten – Merlin help your beautiful lost soul, you _have_!"

"Ladies, if you please, this is a Library!"

"Sorry Madam Pince," Lavender smiled, though she was not sorry at all and would probably back in the library supposedly working on her Herbology assignment but actually catching up with Padma and Parvati and apologise in just the same superficial manner. She waited patiently as Daisy packed up her things and followed her Slytherin friend out of the library. "Honestly, I don't play and I'm excited – Selena's picking the Hogwarts team – _today_!"

"Oh, right," Daisy said, realisation dawning on her as she adjusted her book bag on her shoulder. "Well, now you've reminded me, I'm more nervous than excited."

"I can't believe you _actually_ forgot. It's all anyone at Gobstones' been gobbing about all week!"

"I've just had a lot on my mind."

"Clearly," Lavender agreed, giving Daisy a friendly nudge of the shoulder. "You didn't even laugh at my joke. I'll see you after Charms – enjoy your time with Quirell!"

As the bubbly Gryffindor skipped off to her next class, Daisy realised that she indeed had had quite a bit on her mind since the start of term and a return to the castle. She'd even forgotten that the only class she had with Lavender was on a Friday morning for the joyous affair Double Potions was. Though she had _known_ that today was the day that the Hogwarts Gobstones Team was being decided, it just hadn't crossed her mind because her mind was…elsewhere. Like always.

She arrived at the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom before anyone else. Peering round the open door she spotted the purple turban that all students usually spotted before they noticed the Professor that came with it. He was mumbling to himself as he scribbled on parchment, his parched thin lips never stumbling as they had not done with the hex – or was Harry right, had Quirell been trying to utter a counter hex and she'd set the wrong person on fire?

Last week's Friday afternoon chat with Harry still hadn't cleared up the mystery surrounding whatever Fluffy was guarding. The conversation had gone round in circles: Daisy defending her Head of House, trying to make Harry understand that he'd been volunteered to watch over the game in case something else happened to him - he'd told her himself during this term's progress meeting - and Harry insisting that someone who could manage to take fifty points off of Gryffindor during a single lesson for little more than breathing was more likely to be their suspected thieving murderer.

"M-m-miss D-Dursley." Daisy jumped a little, mirroring Quirell's surprise that there was a student at the door. " D-d-do come in. Y-y-you're r-rather e-early."

"Yes sir," Daisy said, taking her customary seat, beginning to slowly take out her things. "I didn't really look at the time before coming up."

"Your ess-essay on V-v-vampire colonies w-was except-exceptional," he continued, perhaps seeing no other way to fill the fifteen minutes before the class started with his stutters. "I-I-I hear v-very g-g-good things a-about you M-m-miss Dursley. As t-t-to be expected, f-f-from a M-M-Muggleborn S-S-S-S-Slytherin."

"As to be expected from any Slytherin really."

"Not q-q-quite. T-t-there hasn't b-b-been a known M-Muggleborn in S-Slytherin in-"

"A little under a century," Daisy completed. "I know, sir."

"And d-d-do you know w-w-what h-h-happened to this M-M-Muggleborn?"

Daisy stopped shuffling her papers around and looked at her Defence teacher, feeling a little uncomfortable under his pale-eyed gaze. "No, what happened, sir?"

"T-t-tragedy, it was for H-Hogwarts, q-q-quite a scandal actually. T-t-they found his body f-floating in the Lake. P-p-poor boy just c-couldn't take it anymore."

Quirell now held her undivided attention. "Anymore what, sir?"

"Anymore f-f-from his H-Housemates. T-they d-did all s-sorts to him t-throughout h-his years as a s-student, a-a-all b-because he was a M-Muggleborn. A-a t-t-terrible tragedy. S-Slytherin d-d-does n-n-not have a r-r-reputation of b-being kind to t-t-their M-Muggleborns, n-not without r-reason..."

"Well - well things have changed now," Daisy insisted, forcing out the slight tremor that had tried to creep into her voice at this particular piece of information. "I'm going to make it out of Hogwarts – _alive_ – and… and the wizarding world will just have to deal with the fact that I'm a Muggleborn witch."

"A-a-ambitious," he said, dipping his head slightly in acknowledgement, feigning ignorance of the tremor she had not been successful in forcing out of her hands. "I-I-I was a Hufflepuff myself, f-f-for w-what is ambition without loyalty?"

"Power, of course," Daisy answered, though continuing as she mulled it over in her head glad for something else to think about other than her predecessors tragic demise. "It's unstable power though, probably short-lived, because the power of many always beats the power of one strong person, right? And if you're ambitious, but you'll ditch people at the first trouble then…then you'll get to the top and realise you've got a bunch of people waiting to drag you back down. You'll have power and enemies – and if you expect people to be loyal without giving anything back then, then that's just servitude and they'll turn on you when they get enough power to do that because you never gave them a reason not to. Loyalty's a two-way thing, and if you're kind to the people who got you that power, what reason should they have to get rid of you?"

"V-v-very well r-reasoned, M-m-miss D-Dursley! T-two p-points to S-Slytherin."

"Thank you, sir."

"A-and w-what do you h-hope to d-do w-with y-your a-ambition?"

"Graduate Head Girl with seven Outstanding NEWTS having won the Slytherin Quidditch Cup under my captaincy," Daisy answered, repeating the words that she wrote over and over in the journal that Millicent had gifted her over Christmas, especially when her mother's offer of a return home grew unbearably tempting. There was a familiarity in them, a sort of mantra that kept her going. "From there I hope to play on a national, and then international level, seeking contacts everywhere. After that, I'm going to return to Britain and become Minister for Magic."

Quirell laughed, a low little wheezing laugh that twisted his usually nervous face. "I-I-I once d-dreamed of being p-part of the O-order of V-Van Hellsing, a-and y-yet h-here I am, a lowly D-D-Defence A-Against The D-Dark A-arts t-t-teacher."

She bristled at the mockery. "My father says that only those who can't do, teach."

"And my f-f-father t-told m-me that M-M-Merlin was once a g-g-great teacher."

Daisy was saved from having to respond with something other than her own laugh at the comparison to Merlin by the entrance of Goldstein, who took his customary seat at the front, on the Ravenclaw side of the room, and began his usual pre-lesson quiz of Quirell about whatever additional readings that he had happened across during his daily readings. Daisy was usually part of the trickle of students that would happen in on this scene, grateful that at least a quarter of the lesson was over before Quirell could tell the Ravenclaw to see him after class because he had a lesson to teach.

"I thought you'd had your nap," she whispered as she nudged her companion in the ribs, jerking her awake during the middle of Quirell's lecture.

"I could have a thousand naps and I would still fall asleep in his lesson," Millicent answered, stretching her arms across the table and the empty parchment before her. "Maybe Boot and Corner will have something vaguely interesting debate about with Goldstein and Entwhistle. Their Vampire detection theories were pretty amusing."

"We could play Hangman?"

And so while the Ravenclaws tried to assimilate information they more than likely already knew, Millicent and Daisy partook in a very Slytherin tradition of disregarding any teacher that had been deemed unworthy of their attention. The Hags didn't even bother with keeping their voices down, their discussion of Lisa Turpin's decision to put her hair into pigtails carrying to its destination and beyond, and Malfoy, Nott and Zabini emitted the occasional giggle that suggested that what they were drawing on the parchment might very well feature naughty parts. To say they paid more attention in Professor Binns class was saying something of Quirell's teaching methods.

Most of the class was already packed up by the time the bell rang.

"I need to head to the GHQ," Daisy said, as she saw Mandy and Lisa headed in the opposite direction to that of others. "Team selection results."

"I thought you were already part of the team?" Millicent asked as she changed direction, falling in step with Daisy.

"I am – the Slytherin Gobstones Team that is, but the Inter-House tournament won't be held this year 'cos McGonagall complained that Snape was using it to bump up House points way too much. But Hogwarts is taking part in the National Gobstones Youth Tournament so we need a team."

"So won't they pick people who've been playing forever?"

"They need two representatives for each age category - so there'll be six of us, plus Selena. I'm up for the Under-Thirteens. Mandy _is_ better than me, she's been playing longer but only by a little bit and she gets really wound up when things don't go right so…"

"I hope you get it," Millicent said as they arrived at the Headquarters. "It's not Quidditch, but a trophy is a trophy. Should I wait for you here or…?"

"No, come in," Daisy said, pulling her friend into the room that already had people gathered around the noticeboard. Selena was sat in one of the sofas, attempting to calmly explain her decision to those who couldn't understand why they hadn't been picked. "I can't look Millie – look for me, please."

"Honestly, Daisy."

"I know, I know, I'm a big girl. Hold my hand at least?"

Encouraged by the affectionate eye roll, Daisy approached the list, mouthing each name as she ran a finger lightly down it. And there, just under Emily Limpett, a second-year Ravenclaw, was her own name. _Daisy Dursley_. Her heart gave the familiar jolt of joy, and the grin on her face as she turned back to her best friend would have been sufficient. The hug she engulfed Millicent in was purely for her own pleasure.

"I did it! I'm on the Team!"

"I gathered," Millicent smiled. "You deserve it."

"That you do," Selena said, resting a sisterly hand on Daisy's shoulder. "After all you've been through – you haven't missed a single Gobstones meeting, you're always interested and no one would suspect you're an absolute beginner. You're a hard worker. If I didn't know better, I'd mistake you for a Hufflepuff."

"Well, you know what Professor Snape says-"

"Yes, I do. After all, I've heard his speeches five more times than you have."

"Butterbeer ladies?"

Mans Farley was the sixth year representative, a Hufflepuff, with enough skill to have been Captain but with his mind usually elsewhere. He was quite happy enough to deal with the food, and he and a couple of friends were busy setting up HQ with enough snacks and drinks to last them until curfew. Not everyone stayed; coursework deadlines loomed for OWL and NEWT projects, and Mandy didn't seem to agree with Susan being made Reserve over her.

"You were right," Millicent said as she munched on a pumpkin pasty, watching the people in the room from a strategically chosen sofa. "This isn't just about Gobstones. Selena picked you, a fellow Slytherin, but I'm guessing it's also because Flint wouldn't be very happy if she didn't – and picking Bones makes more sense than Brocklehurst. Her father's a low-level Arithmancer in the Ministry that nobody really cares about – Madam Bones, her aunt, on the other hand, is Head of the DMLE."

"What's the DMLE?" Daisy asked, smiling as someone offered her a passing congratulations.

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Surely, Future Madam Minister, you should be aware of your Departments."

"Sorry, I was a little busy trying to survive first year."

"Do they know about Davis?"

Daisy stiffened. "They know that she's not welcome here. Not that they would, but if Parkinson or Greengrass tried stepping foot in here, they'd be dead before they could even think of the next words to say. And the great thing about Hufflepuff loyalty is that they'll help you bury the body and take their secret to the grave."

"You don't need to be a Hufflepuff to show that loyalty."

Smiling, Daisy took her best friend's hand into hers, and gave it a squeeze.

"What would I do without you Millie?"

"I imagine you'd be sitting in Azkaban awaiting trial for the murder of every Noble House heir."

Daisy shrugged. "It would have been worth it."

Millicent raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know what Azkaban is?"

"Not a clue."

* * *

The next time Daisy found herself in the library, she was crouched in one of its more secluded part, furthest from the door as she could get, but also far enough from the Restricted Section and therefore Madam Pince's usual hawk-like capabilities of spotting younger years roaming in close proximity to it. She was trying to remain deathly still whilst at the time catching her breath, which was proving difficult because she seemed to inhale more dust than air in this particular position. The Library was usually a good hiding place, and much more interesting than the bathroom where all she had for company was the graffiti on its walls; at least here she could reach for a book, and brush up on - _Seeing Into The History of the Crystal Ball_ or whatever subject matter she happened to find herself crouched by. She usually waited it out until near curfew.

"Dursley?"

Daisy jumped, simultaneously dropping the book in hand, the sound muffled by its soft cover and the dust covered floor, and whirling round to the source of the voice, wand pointed to cast the first spell that came to mind.

"Longbottom?"

The stunned first year who stood on the other end of her wand was indeed the round-faced boy that she'd met at the beginning of the year and saw each week, usually the cause of mass panic as his third cauldron of the year melted into an irreparable mess and the class tried to find a way to avoid breaking out into tentacles.

"Y-you're bleeding," Neville said, his look of panic turning into worry as he scrutinised the girl before him. From what he could see in the dim light offered by the orbs of light that floated above the book case, she had a gash across her forehead, the dried blood matting her blonde hair and spattered onto her green and silver tie.

"I am?" Curiously, she reached to the area Neville indicated to on his own head. "Nah, it's fine. It's just Gobstone spray. My best ones as well… What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for a book – a Potions book, for Snape's essay…"

"Might help if you were in the right section." She picked up the book she had dropped and held up the cover. "See, this is the Divination section. Or one of the Divination sections. This library is pretty big."

A look of despair crossed his face. "I'm never going to find it, am I? I'm doomed."

"I can help, if you'd like," Daisy offered, placing back the book. "Well, I can point you in the right direction, I can't physically show you – don't ask, it's a long story and the essay's due tomorrow. Actually, why don't you ask Harry? I'm sure Hermione's helped him."

"I don't – they always seem so busy, I don't want to disturb them…"

"If you're sure."

Daisy was glad for Neville's presence; he tended to look at his shoes a lot, and was about as graceful as she was under a Trip Jinx, but he gave her something to do, and it was kind of fun, if she was really honest – she hummed the _Mission Impossible_ theme tune as she peered down the aisle before crossing over to another one, earning some strange looks from those who happened to be there, though she wasn't entirely sure if it was because she was splattered in something that looked oddly like blood or because she was crouching behind bookshelves, signaling to a very confused partner-in-crime whilst she hummed to herself.

Once he had the books he needed, they settled back in the Divination section, Daisy using a cleaning charm to get rid of some of the dust before doing her best to help him understand the importance of stirring in the potions they had studied so far. He wasn't as slow or as incompetent as Professor Snape made him out to be; he was just…easily lost, mixing the qualities of stirring with that of heat and needing each step explained before he could move on to the next. You couldn't simply tell him that clockwise stirring was principally used to mix and counter-clockwise to infuse, he had to _understand_. And it seemed to take a lot for him to understand this particular subject.

"You know a lot," Neville said as they began packing up, bums sore from sitting on the cold floor without cushions. "You probably know as much as Hermione. I'm surprised you're not Snape's favourite. You're in his House. He'd get loads of points by just asking you questions."

"Yeah, but I'm a Muggleborn," Daisy shrugged, stifling a yawn. She needed to proofread her own essay, adding in a few elements she'd realised she'd missed out on as she tried to explain some things to Neville and found that she'd not known that much herself. "And he can't be seen favouring me over one of his precious Purebloods. According to Malfoy, Snape and his father are the best of friends."

"You're better than most Purebloods. I'm a Pureblood and look at me… You've seen my flying skills, I can't brew a Potion to save my life and I'm terrible at most my other classes. I'm just…rubbish."

The last word was barely above a whisper. Daisy didn't know what to say, so she just pretended she hadn't heard him, launching into a babble instead as they left the library.

"Do you know who taught me everything I know? Millie – well, Millicent Bullstrode to you – I'm sure that if I asked her nicely enough she'd be alright with helping you. Professor Snape's been on at her to apply herself in his class – her Mum's a Potions Master as well, you see – and I'm sure _everyone_ in our class would thank her if your Potions skills improved. You're not that bad at Potions. I thought you were awful, but really it's because you get loads of things muddled up and once you don't understand one thing understanding the rest is a bit like – _crap_."

Daisy stopped so abruptly as they turned round the corner of the Library, heading towards the main staircase where Neville would continue upwards towards the Gryffindor Common Room and Daisy down to the dungeons that it took him a few moments to realise what was going on.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Gryffindor's Resident Wimp, Toad-boy Longbottom," Draco drawled, as he spotted on of his favourite targets. He spotted Daisy before she could get much further. "And look who it is boys – it's the Mudblood."

"Y-you shouldn't call people that," Neville said.

"Oh, yeah, and who's going to stop me? _You_?"

"What can we help you with, Malfoy?" Daisy asked the platinum-haired terror as politely as she could muster in hopes he might not cause any further trouble. It had been proven to work on some occasions; he liked being treated with more respect than he deserved.

"Higgs is looking for you," Malfoy answered, smirking as the plastered smile on Daisy's face grew tighter. "Didn't look too happy to have Gobstones smashed into his face. He reckons you could have blinded him. I reckon he'll be wanting revenge, and I've been dying to practise the Leg-Locker Curse on someone all day. So maybe I'll just help him out by making you easier to catch."

She paled. "You wouldn't."

"And why wouldn't I? Isn't that what Slytherin is about, helping out one another? But the true Slytherins that is, not the filth that manages to worm its way into it."

"Leave her alone," Neville said in another attempt to stand up for Daisy, who was slowly backing away, hand reaching into her robe for her wand, just as Crabbe and Goyle advanced, cracking their knuckles ominously. He faltered slightly at Crabbe's leer. "W-what kind of wizards a-are you? Picking on a g-girl?"

"I think Fatbottom here's asking to be cursed today," Malfoy laughed, drawing his wand after a quick glance to check for teachers. "Trying to tap into that Gryffindor bravery that you have none of? Even Hufflepuff wouldn't want you, you're so pathetic."

"Malfoy-"

Daisy stopped talking as his wand pointed sharply in her direction. "Do you really want Higgs to catch you? No, I didn't think so. So run along Mudblood, whilst I have a little chat with your pathetic little blood traitor friend here."

Opening her mouth to protest, Daisy thought better of it and turned on her heel, running as soon as she was out of sight. She didn't know exactly why she was running, except that she felt a panic whirling up inside her; she needed a new hiding place, not the HQ, not the Owlery - maybe she could backtrack to the Library... She ran, because she had gotten so accustomed to doing so and it was better to be a constantly moving target than a sitting duck. That was a lesson she was certain she didn't need to learn twice. Higgs had tried to throw her into the fireplace. She didn't care if it had been an idle threat, an attempt to scare her – she'd defended herself and she'd ran - she didn't want to find out if he would, she knew he _could_ and she didn't –

"Oof."

She had collided into something hard, but not a pillar or a suit of armour – no, this was human, yet the sheer force of the collision sent her sprawling, palms grazing on the floor as she slid backwards. The look of panic in her eyes as she forced herself to look up at who'd she ran into was only momentarily, but her Head of House caught it.

"Running is not prohibited in the corridors without reason," Snape snapped, reducing his usual snarl significantly as he caught the crimson stains. "Miss Dursley, you are bleeding."

"No, sir," Daisy said, wincing at the sting on her hands as she drew herself up. "It's from Gobstones."

"Let me see." A long finger tilted her head under the light, his dark eyes narrowed in their scrutiny. "We shall go to the Hospital Wing so I can be absolutely certain it is what you say it is. And I daresay that you might like something for your hands."

She followed him, in two minds about her run in with Snape. On the one hand, she was grateful because she could always ask him to accompany her to her dormitories or at the very least send for a Prefect, but on the other, she was rather apprehensive of this trip to the Hospital Wing – if word got out that she'd been talking to Professor Snape and everything got twisted as it always did in her House, she might as well start packing her bags. The Matron was treating her first case of exam stress, a seventh year who had fainted in her Common Room, and Daisy sat nervously on the edge of a spare bed, aware that Snape was watching her.

"Who were you running from, Miss Dursley?"

"I- I wasn't running from anyone. I was running to somewhere."

"Where?"

"Just anywhere."

"Such a destination leads me to believe that you were running from someone. Or something." Daisy kept her eyes fixed on her lap, where she had gingerly placed her hands, palms now a vivid red as little droplets fought to the surface. "Miss Dursley."

"What's the likelihood of you not getting angry if I ask you nicely not to get angry, sir?"

"As unlikely as you imagine it to be," Snape answered, just as Daisy had expected. "I will react as is appropriate, nothing more and nothing less. But I do not recall ever reacting unreasonably to anything you have said or otherwise done, Miss Dursley."

"I smashed Gobstones into Higgs' face," Daisy confessed, the red now dripping from her palms very real. She pressed on, feeling the silent rage before she even stole a glance up at her Head of House. "He was teasing me, sir, saying it was my fault Slytherin are losing the Cups this year and I just snapped. I didn't think. So I was running from him because he's probably going to kill me when he gets his hands on me."

"Are you telling me that even after a fortnight of detentions, a warning sent home and _your word_ that you would take care of your temper, you _attacked_ a fellow student?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do I need to point out the foolishness of your actions? I'm certain you're aware of your position within Slytherin, a position which is certainly not helped if you are going to attack the very people who promise to make your life a living misery. You must rise above the teasing and refrain from doing impulsive, reckless things like attacking them!"

"I don't just go around attacking Purebloods for the hell of it, _sir_!" Daisy snapped back, forcing herself to look up at the Potions Master who bore a look Daisy had thought he only reserved for Harry. "What do you want me to do? Just sit there and take it, because I'm not a Pureblood and that's what I deserve? Because I'm not going to do that."

"That is exactly what you're going to do Miss Dursley," Snape hissed, coal eyes flashing. "I cannot afford to give you the protection that you would require if you choose to pit yourself against your entire House. If you knew just how dangerous a situation you are placing yourself can be, perhaps you would rethink your strategy."

"I am already well aware - Professor Quirell told me."

Some of the anger in his face dissipated at his surprise. "Quirell?"

Daisy nodded slowly, her gaze returning to her bleeding palms. "He told me what happened to the last Muggleborn in Slytherin. I know he drowned himself, that his Housemates pushed him to it – I read the article, and -" She wiped at her eye with the back of her hand. "I don't want to be that Muggleborn, who just took it quietly until he just couldn't stand it anymore. I'm going to fight, right until the end. And I will sir. I don't think the Sorting Hat would have suggested Slytherin if he thought I couldn't take it."

"That Hat doesn't see more than the thoughts of naïve eleven-year olds and the occasional conversation with a Headmaster who can only ever have a vague idea of what is going on," Snape countered. "If it'd had any sense it would have placed you besides your insufferable cousin, where you would have no doubt been welcomed with open arms and squandered away your potential by looking up for ways to continually get into trouble."

"But it didn't," she shrugged. "So you're stuck with me, Professor."

"Unfortunately."

Daisy preferred the curl of his lip to the stony furry that could rage on his thin face when he was angry, and would have smiled back had Madam Pomfrey not chosen to bustle in at that time, asking what she could do for them.

"I fell," Daisy said instead, all but thrusting her hands in the Matron's direction. "I was running in the corridor – I was supposed to meet Millie but I got caught up in a game of Gobstones – and literally ran into Professor Snape and did this. He just wanted to make sure I didn't hurt anything more."

"Severus is very good at making sure his students come to me," Madam Pomfrey agreed, as she waved her wand over the first years hands. One swish later, they were as good as new. "There we are. She hasn't broken anything if that's what you were worried about. And you, young lady – no more running in the corridors."

"Won't happen again."

As Daisy hopped off the bed, Pomfrey caught sight of something she hadn't noticed before. "My dear – what is that?" Despite the terrified flash in the girls face, the Matron reached up to brush her hair aside. "Oh, I didn't mean to scare you dear. It's that awful stuff you get from Gobstones. A nightmare to get out of white sheets and therefore the only thing the Weasley twins ever want to play. I thought it was blood for a minute there. Well, you're free to go."

"I'll walk you down Miss Dursley," Snape said, his eyes narrowing slightly at the emotions his first year was doing a very bad job at keeping from flitting across her face. "We still have a detention to discuss."

The Matron rolled her eyes. "Really Severus - for running in the corridors?"

"Amongst other things. Surely you didn't expect me to take _points_?"

* * *

The talk amongst the first years in the week that followed the highly anticipated Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff match, other than Harry managing to catch the Snitch before Snape even had time to award a second penalty to Hufflepuff, was the fight that had taken place during the match. Those who hadn't seen it, had certainly seen the aftermath and heard about it later. Malfoy, the recipient of a lovely black eye, did not like to talk about it, but Ron was more obliging. He recited the tale anyone who would stand still long enough to listen and even to those who had been there and were kind enough to sit through it once more.

Though she had only been a stone's throw away and witnessed the fight, and had already heard the story second hand more than enough times, Daisy listened to it once more as they sat on the steps of the Entrance Hall, enjoying the rare afternoon when it wasn't either raining cats and dogs or absolutely freezing. She wasn't fond of the Fridays when Harry decided to bring along Ron and Hermione, but at least this time she'd brought Millicent with her, who was sat a little further down going over with Neville what they had seen in Potions that morning.

"So Neville says '_I'm worth twelve of you Malfoy'_ and being the prick he is, he and his two cronies just laugh, but I was like '_You tell him Neville'_ but Malfoy just has to keep winding us up," Ron explained enthusiastically. "He says something that he thinks is so clever like '_If brains were gold, you'd be poorer than Weasley'_. So of course I warn him, but he just keeps on digging so I snap. Charlie taught me how to have a decent right hook, he did. Meanwhile, I turn around and Neville's going at both Crabbe _and_ Goyle like a madman. Shame it was two against one, I reckon you'd have stood a fair chance."

"Your Mum must have been so proud when you told her," Daisy teased, stretching out in the feeble ray of sun. "_Dear Mum, I gave a wimpy little boy a black eye while my friend took on his two bodyguards, Love, Ronald_."

"Sounds exactly like something Dudley would get a pat on the head for," Harry retorted, catching the crestfallen look on Ron's face. "It wasn't about beating them up, it was about defending his honour."

Daisy sniffed. "What would you know? You were busy showing off in the air."

"I was busy trying to _stay alive_. Did you see how angry Snape was when I caught the Snitch?"

"True, spitting on the ground doesn't seem like his usual style _but_ - maybe he was just angry you only let him get in one penalty. He wasn't the only one disappointed. Most of Slytherin were hoping for at least three penalties and a Quidditch ban."

"Me not included," Millicent added, turning her attention back to the conversation as Neville went through an exercise like she'd just instructed him to, his tongue sticking out of his teeth in concentration. "I couldn't give a flying Flobberworm as to who wins which Quidditch tournament. Get rid of Quidditch, you get rid of Quidditch-related hostility, brawls and gambling."

"Hear, hear," Hermione concurred. "Give me a good book any day."

Millicent snorted. "I wouldn't go that far."

"You two are missing the point entirely," Ron insisted. "What's life without a bit of competition? What would father and son do without a good old Quidditch game to look forward to? What would Harry do if he wasn't bloody brilliant at Quidditch?"

"Study more?" Daisy suggested. "Clear the path for Slytherin to win the Cup – one day soon thanks to yours truly?"

"Aren't you on the Gobstones Team?" Harry asked.

"For the moment, but that's merely a stepping stone onto greater things. Not everyone can be the Boy-Who-Lived, but I'll get there. It's my hand you'll be shaking on the pitch come sixth year."

"Who says Harry'll be Quidditch Captain?" Ron asked, a slight note of resentment in his voice. "Maybe-maybe there'll be fresh talent that manages to shine through by then."

Hermione scoffed. "It's more likely that he'll get expelled before he gets to sixth year."

"Speaking of getting expelled," Daisy said, casting a covert glance in Harry's direction, "How goes that side-project of yours? Any change?"

"Still can't say a hundred percent which one of our theories is true, but we can say that one of them definitely does apply," Harry said, thinking of his recent accidental spying trip on Snape and Quirell. "I'll show you more of it next week, if one hasn't already come to…err…hasn't come true by then. The one that you're not so fond of."

"Are you sure?"

"If we were, it wouldn't be a theory, would it?"

As Neville once again failed to see why adding four drops of Aloe Vera had ruined the Burn Salve they had concocted that week (again one of those 'I really don't understand how you managed to do that Longbottom when it's so easy' Potions) Daisy wondered if maybe for once, she really was wrong, and Professor Snape, the man who had brought the wizarding world to them, even joined them for bloody ice-cream afterwards, could then go on to kill Harry.

That said, it did not clear him for the Philosopher's Stone, and if there was one man most students agreed should not be immortal, it was the Potions Master.

* * *

However none of their theories came to fruition in the immediate future.

The Stone did not disappear in the following week as Harry had thought it might, and the Gryffindors often pressed their ear against the door on the third floor corridor every chance they got to make sure that Fluffy was still alive and, as Ron so eloquently put it, ready to tear a bigger chunk out of Snape's leg.

"Mind you," he mused as they continued their trajectory up to their Common Room. "Snape being so skinny, there wouldn't be much to tear. I don't even think Fluffy would be satisfied if he ate him whole…"

Hermione looked horrified. "That's a Hogwarts Professor, Ronald!"

"One who's probably trying to kill our friend, _Hermione_! I honestly wonder about you sometimes, fearing expulsion over death, grieving the death of Snape over Harry's, liking homework over anything that is good and sane in this world…"

Harry couldn't quite bring himself to tell Ron off as Hermione stormed off, exchanging instead a bashful grin with his best friend. First friend, if he was being particularly honest, unless he counted the spiders in the cupboard under the stairs. Ron had a point. Better Fluffy kill Snape before he got the chance to get the Stone and come back and kill him.

However, as much Daisy argued for the contrary, even she had to admit that Quirell did appear to be growing steadily thinner and strained, and the more kind-natured Ravenclaws took to restraining their more vigorous members in their questioning for it looked like one more complex question might finish him off. It might as well have been a free period for how little attention the class paid, and how much he actually taught. Their favourite lessons by far were the ones where he took them to the Library and set them off to find whatever he no longer had the energy to teach.

"Maybe he's just really worried about how many parents are going to be writing to him when all his students fail," Daisy whispered to Harry, their usual Friday walk having been turned into a library session in light of the ever-increasing work that the teachers were given them as exams approached.

"Or maybe," Harry countered, "Snape's on his case because they're both trying to steal _it_, and both of them refuse to tell the other what they're protecting it with. And I'd bet you anything Snape's slowly poisoning him. He looks like a wreck."

"If Professor Snape was poisoning our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, someone would know about it, Harry. It's not our job to worry about this sort of thing anyway. Our main concern – well, mine anyway – is to just get through this year alive, be part of National winning Gobstones team and then pass my exams with the flying colours I am expected to pass with."

"Don't you care about anything that's not to do with you?"

"And don't you care about anything that's not to do with that stupid Stone?" Daisy hissed back, unable to control the hurt she felt that Harry could even say that. "You have _everything_ here, Harry – and all you do is risk getting expelled over some stupid Stone that the Magical Law Enforcement would probably just get back if it _was_ stolen and think some stupid teachers are going to kill you when they're probably just hoping Slytherin wins the Quidditch Cup!"

Slamming the book she'd been looking into the nearest space, Daisy stormed back to her table with Millicent, and tried to calm down enough to focus on the Charms assignment at hand. Millicent didn't say anything, simply letting the blonde calm down and take her anger out on the quill that was leaking ink all over her hands in retaliation. Daisy had had a rough couple of weeks, not made any better by not being able to go home for the Easter holidays. Not only were they drowning in last-minute essays and revision work, but the Gobstone Tournament was to be held shortly after the holidays, so she'd also been practising morning and night, cramming in school work when she could, when Millicent knew all she wanted to do was go home and get away from the castle for a little while.

Slytherin's defeat in the Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw game had been a blow to their House, placing them firmly in Third position. Their Captain had took it the hardest, and had spent the past fortnight or so in his dormitory, according Pucey, busy dealing with the sudden realisation that not only had he lost his first games since he'd donned the uniform, he'd done so little studying that he was going to fail his OWLs with an average of T. With Flint out of action, Higgs found that the little Slytherin Mudblood was a perfect scapegoat for his butter fingers, lamenting that he's been finding it hard to see ever since she had nearly blinded him. It disgusted and saddened Millicent at how many people jumped to his call. Then again, Daisy really didn't make it easier for herself.

"_I've seen blind men catch more Snitches than you Higgs_!" she would snap back, before dodging him and his friends with an acquired skill of someone who'd been doing nothing but since the start of the Quidditch season. Daisy had found that once up on the girl's side of the dormitories, he couldn't get to her and she didn't have the trouble of trying to sneak back in and right into his traps. She was sure that no one missed the school broom she'd fly out of their dormitory window the morning after, and personally, she thought it was great practise.

Daisy gave Millicent an odd look when she held out her handkerchief.

"I'm not crying," she said, though her voice cracked and she felt a lump welling up in her throat.

"I know, but if you leak any more ink Madam Pince is going to kick us out. I bet her Spider senses are already tingling."

* * *

_Daisy, _

_I know I should have probably mentioned this earlier, but you've been really stressed lately so I thought it might be best not to. Thing is, Hagrid's sort of got a dragon and Malfoy sort of knows that he has and is probably going to try and get us in trouble when Ron's brothers comes to get it this evening._

_So if you've got a spare moment or two, it'd be really great if you could find some way to make sure that Malfoy doesn't open his big mouth and is probably not out of bed at midnight. _

_I'd really appreciate it. And so would Hagrid. _

_Love,_

_Harry_

"Great. Just bloody great."

"Breathe little Dursley," Mans said, handing her one of the sandwiches he'd lovingly had the house elves pack for the team. They were sat in the competitors area, enjoying an agonising lunch as they waited for the tournament to start up again. "Whatever it is, you can deal with it after you've eaten and won your game."

"Thanks Mans," Daisy said, feeling her stomach whirl. "No pressure."

Munching on her sandwich, she tried not to think of how their very success was riding on her beating the boy from Southampton Shotters in her category. True Selena and Eddie had to both win in their categories for Hogwarts to be the undisputed Champions, but this was a fact that did not make her feel any better. Nor the fact that she, unlike a very glum looking Emily who had lost her second game on a technicality (0.01 millimetre out of the circle was still 0.01 millimetre to the bastard judge on the panel), had not lost a game so far.

Daisy supposed she wished that the Hogwarts Team could have a bigger support base. Though Susan and the reserve members of the team had done a very good job on the banner they'd made during the intervals, and cheered as loud as they could from the stands, it was nothing like the Huntington Snatchers, who had fifty odd people cheering on a team of seven, complete with choreographed moves and memorised chants that were very hard to ignore just before the game began. Thankfully, to stop people from distracting players as dirty ploys, a silencing charm was placed around the area during the duration of the game.

She supposed she wished that Harry had remembered that today was her game and had woken up earlier than usual as Millicent had done despite looking like she wanted to kill the next thing that moved, and wished her luck at breakfast before the Team went down to Hogsmeade to catch the arranged Portkey to the Arena where the tournament was being held. Judging by the letter he'd noticed her absence but clearly hadn't realised _why_ she was absent. Not even Hermione, who reminded everyone that she had no trouble memorising textbooks, had forgotten to remind him of this one little thing.

She also supposed that she wished she'd get more recognition for being part of the Hogwarts Gobstones Team that was going to win the first Youth Tournament in a decade. Half the students at Hogwarts didn't even know or remember that there was a Gobstones Team that attended actual tournaments with actual trophies. She wished that this win would be for _something_.

"You alright Daisy?" Selena said, breaking Daisy out of her reverie. "You look a little dazed."

"I think I'm just nervous," Daisy shrugged, putting the half-eaten sandwich back in its foil.

"You'll be fine. And even on the off-chance the judge decides he doesn't like your face, just know that you did Hogwarts proud. That you made me proud and that I might actually shed a tear or two when Marcus claims you for the Quidditch team."

"God knows they need me."

"Yes but we need you here first, so that one day, when you're Supreme Ruler of the World, you'll have the history books all re-written and you can say that it all started right here when you were part of one the greatest Gobstone teams Hogwarts has ever had and got your first taste of glory."

Despite knowing that Selena was for the most part mocking her, she still felt better, the fifth years own ambitions infectious. Since that morning not a dark look had crossed her hazel eyes and she had not stopped being encouraging and optimistic – two attributes not normally associated with a Slytherin, but she was not both a Prefect and a Captain for nothing. Rumour had it she'd even managed to coax Flint out of bed and into a shower, a feat worth an Order of Merlin First Class according to his roommates.

"Hmm," Eddie said pensively, running a hand through his mass of honey-coloured curls. "I'm not sure how I feel about promoting the rise of yet another Slytherin overlord. The last three sort of left death and destruction in their wake."

"Don't worry," Daisy reassured. "I'll be a nice overlord."

"That's what they all say."

"If Binns is to be believed the only thing they ever say is 'We must kill all the goblins'," Mans interjected. "Our little Daisy would be a good overlord. For starters, she's a girl and girls aren't particularly bloodthirsty."

"Unless, of course, you forget to pay attention to the moon cycle and BAM- the bloodthirsty banshee siren hag witch-hybrids come out to play."

"In that case," Selena said lowly, her eyes flashing, "we'd get the chance to kill once a month. Not really allowed that with wizards in control."

"Come now, Wilcock. You lot _need_ us…"

As she watched her teammates exchange light-hearted banter, she felt some of the nerves work themselves out, some through the laughter as Mans was forced to throw himself out of his chair to avoid a nasty coloured hex, and others as her train of thought took a more positive turn. It didn't matter if other people didn't recognise the Trophy they would surely win, because the people that mattered were sat before her. Selena had been there for her since day one, and every single person there, and throughout the Gobstones Club, called her Daisy without so much as a sneer.

Even if the win wouldn't do much for her, it was the least she could do to repay Selena back for her kindness, her fellow teammates for their support and belief in her, and to give reason for Club members to keep coming back. A trophy was a trophy for so many reasons. As Mans replaced the Visor Charm on her eyes, and adjusted the Hogwarts badge pinned onto the black jumper that was part of their uniform, she informed him that she had a good feeling about this.

He gave his toothy freckled grin. "Trelawney said we were going to die a gruesome death on our way to Hogsmeade. I think we can safely assume we stand some sort of chance."

* * *

_**A/N:** This came out later than I would have liked mostly because I didn't like it! But I couldn't imagine not having it there either, so it stayed and grew into something that was more my liking, and hope you share in the opinion. Please let me know what you think! Thank you for reading, and hopefully the next chapter will be up sharpish._


	12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Daisy awoke to the now familiar sound of quill scratching on parchment. Slowly opening an eye to check if her presumption was right, she smiled at the sight of Millicent sitting at the foot of her bed with what looked like Herbology revision strewn around her. It was a comforting sight, even if it meant she had forgotten to ward her bed when she'd finally sunk into the sheets at two o'clock that Sunday morning, but it also meant that the dark-haired Slytherin had noticed and was doing a fine job looking out for her under the guise of revision.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Daisy asked, stretching out under the covers, her feet disturbing the closer notes. Millicent grabbed them before they fell into an illogical order after she'd spent so long making sense of them.

"Because this is the first time in a long time you've actually slept in," she answered. "I thought you deserved it. That's what Sundays are for you know - lie ins."

"Then why are you awake?"

"Because even I don't lie in until four in the afternoon."

"It's that late?"

"Well I figured that it must have been tiring to win the Gobstones Tournament, get caught out of bed past curfew with Malfoy of all people and for Slytherin to somehow be a hundred points in the lead, with Gryffindor firmly at the bottom."

Daisy stopped mid-stretch. "I'm sorry, I don't follow. I only just woke up here – go back to the part about the points."

"How about _you_ tell me about your yesterday, since _you_ didn't see fit to wake me up when you got back in and in exchange I shall tell you about the exciting things that have taken place whilst you were snoring away in your bed?"

"I don't snore!"

"Start talking, Muggleborn," Millicent growled, jabbing her quill where she knew the other girl's toes to be.

"You're so lovely to me, Bullstrode," Daisy replied, sticking out her tongue at her best friend as she sat up, pulling all her body parts to a safer distance. "Well, you've probably heard that we won then. It was a really good tournament actually; in the end it came down to me, Selena and Eddie – Carmichael, Ravenclaw, the one with the massive head of curls - and I went first. I thought I was actually going to be sick when I took my place, but the kid from the other team was a bit of an arrogant berk and he overshot most of his stones, and didn't even notice I was luring him into a Finchawk Hold until he looked like a rainbow had just thrown up over him."

"What a lovely image."

"I ate half my nails through the games that followed, look-" Daisy showed Millicent her left hand where her index and ring finger looked messy and raw. "- and I think at one point I was praying, but I needn't have bothered because Eddie kept his cool, and Selena was absolutely brilliant. Like, she didn't have a _drop_ of colour on her. And when she lifted that Cup, you felt like she deserved it, you know? There are no words for it – it was just – _brilliant_."

Millicent's smile mirrored Daisy's infectious beam. She was happy for her and that was not something she could say for many people.

"So you're going to stay on the Gobstones Team, then?"

"Not the Hogwarts one, no. I think Susan or Mandy might take my place. I want to play Quidditch next year so I'd never have the same amount of time to practise as I did this year, as well as studying and being dragged into Harry's stupid plots involving stupid dragons. You know he sent me an owl asking me to keep Malfoy from grassing them up? He didn't even bother to wish me good luck or anything!"

"Well, you both have your faults…"

"I don't have any faults," Daisy asserted, before dodging out of the way of the book that came flying at her head. "Millicent Bullstrode! What would Madam Pince say at such a blatant disregard for the safety of her precious library book?"

"She wouldn't say anything because it's one of yours," Millicent smiled. "Tell me more about this dragon. Malfoy's mutterings aren't much to go on."

"Hagrid had a dragon-"

"I'm guessing it was illegal then?"

"Yes – probably - I don't know… Harry wasn't very specific on that front. All I knew was that there was a dragon that Malfoy knew about and I had to somehow stop him. So we got back at around ten, and I stayed in the Common Room waiting for Malfoy to show his face. His hair pretty much glows in the dark, do you know that? And you wouldn't know it, but he's a pretty fast runner. I think his original plan was to catch Harry in the act but he just ran straight into McGonagall. Oh you should have seen his face! It was absolutely priceless. He tried to grass them up but she was having none of that!"

"And what about you?"

"She didn't see me," Daisy said smugly. "I'd already skidded to a stop, and managed to hide behind a suit of armour. I snuck back down to the dungeons, and would have probably made it back but I completely forgot to skip the third step from the top and literally landed at McGonagall's feet as she was coming back up from Snape's office."

"Ouch."

"That's what I said, and then started spouting rubbish about having fallen asleep at the Gobstones HQ, but then _Malfoy_ had to open his big mouth and start saying how I'd known about the dragon. In all, McGonagall took forty points from us. And then Snape spent ages going on and on about his stupid sleep cycle and how it's perfectly coordinated so he can check on the potions that need to mature overnight and get enough sleep to stay alive and he can't do that if he's being awoken at random times for stupid first years. I honestly thought he'd never shut up. "

"Did he take points as well?"

"We're talking about Snape here, Millie. He gave Malfoy twenty-five points for taking initiative or something and gave me twenty-five for not complaining about the fall I'd just taken, so in the end we got ten points for sneaking out past curfew."

"And you got fifty points this morning from Professor Dumbledore," Millicent added. "He awarded the Gobstone Team fifty points each, so that makes a hundred points for Slytherin. And Gryffindor lost 150 points last night."

Daisy sat up straighter. "_How_?"

"Seems that Harry, Neville and Granger were caught out of bed too. But McGonagall's not quite like Snape when it comes to points. So unless anyone does anything stupid, the House Cup is as good as ours."

"I didn't think there was ever any doubt."

Millicent rolled her eyes. "Go get showered up. I'm supposed to take you to your Headquarters at six. I can't possibly imagine what that's about."

* * *

She would never forget that weekend Daisy decided later that week as she sat on her bed affixing photos into her new photo album. She'd ordered it before the photos were even developed, spending a good half hour poring over a mail-order catalogue from a stationers Parvati's mother had recommended for its exquisite, more feminine tastes. Rather than the leather that was common in the wizarding world, this one was covered in a silk of deep fuchsia, decorated with brightly coloured embroidery and encrusted with jewels, the patterns of flowers and colourful swirls changing slowly so that it never looked the same on any given day. Her purse was now nearly devoid of coins, but she figured if she refrained from spending in the weeks that remained, she'd be fine. This particular expenditure had most definitely been worth it.

Daisy loved that wizarding photographs, like their paintings, moved. It captured the vibrant atmosphere of the Goblin Headquarters that Sunday much better than normal photographs ever could. There were all sorts of pictures, and she affixed most of them in, taking out the ones with people she wasn't particularly close to or where she didn't like the angle of her face. First there were the team ones, where they had stood under the vibrant banner proclaiming them National Champions, the Trophy held in the middle of them all before it would be transported to the Hogwarts Trophy Room where it would stay forever, her name listed on the winning team. Selena positively beamed in every one of them.

It was amusing to see the ones where they'd tried to fit the entire Gobstone team into the frame, some people standing on their toes to be seen. Daisy had let out a delighted gasp when she mumbled something about wishing you could see more of a member who was being blocked by a fifth year's tall frame, and the occupants of the picture shuffled at her demand. As overwhelming as the wizarding world could be on occasion, it really was amazing.

As the evening drew on, the pictures grew a little more spontaneous with everyone relaxing in the armchairs, sofas and poufs that littered the room, and a little more silly under the influence of Butterbeer (and perhaps something stronger for the older years). There was one where they had attempted a human pyramid, and Daisy as one of the lightest and perhaps more adventurous girl in her year, pulled a face as one of the boys on the base sneezed threatening to send her toppling. The next one showed that exactly that happening. Her favourite silly photo of the night, and one of the ones she would cherish forever she was sure, was the one of her, Selena and Marcus.

She'd been watching the Ravenclaw boys debate whether the origins of Gobstones lay in wizarding or Muggle culture – both, Daisy would argue, as you couldn't really claim something that was so universally diverse, probably going back as far as the age of cavemen – Millicent talking to a Hufflepuff she knew from outside Hogwarts, and so she was by the snack table alone when Selena and Marcus took her by surprise, one on each side, delivering a big sloppy kiss, which combined with the flash of the camera gave her a thoroughly comical look of many emotions.

On the photograph she looked annoyed, amused and secretly but obviously pleased as two of her favourite Slytherins moved away laughing. Daisy thought laughter suited the Slytherin Captain, easing his usually tense face and softening the edges not helped by his black hair which was cut perhaps a little too short to be flattering. She'd been surprised to see him there, but Selena was his closest friend at Hogwarts, and she imagined that it was only fair he came given that she went to all his games. Daisy had heard whispers that they were dating, but Selena had never said anything about a boyfriend, though the way she looked at him… She'd have to remember to tease her Captain if the subject ever came up.

Daisy's favourite picture however, the one she was going to ask an older year to help her duplicate and enlarge, was the one with all the first year girls who'd become acquainted through Gobstones. Of course there was Lavender and Parvati, the two Gryffindors who Daisy had grown quite fond of; she found them easy to approach, and they included you in their giggles, even when they were about you. Their gossip was refreshingly lacking in any intentional malice, compared to that she was prone to overhear in her dormitory. There was Susan, Hannah and Mandy, who had brought along Lisa to the group, though for a non-player she didn't come as often as Lavender and Parvati did, but the quiet girl was just as likeable outside of the classroom. And then there was her, grinning like a Cheshire cat with her arms around Millicent who had point-blank refused to be in the picture until all the girls insisted.

She didn't like this picture because it was the first of the kind. No, Daisy had others like this at home, where she stood in the centre of a gaggle of girls who she called friends but they weren't really. In the month since she'd left her ballet class, she'd not seen one of the girls she'd spent the past five years performing with, even though they'd regularly spent weekends together, had sleepovers where they talked into the early hours of the night. Best Friends Forever indeed. She had always known deep down she was going to lose contact with the girls from Stonewall Primary, most of whom were either off to Stonewall High or the Lake Valley Grammar School in the next town over, which even had its own school bus, but it didn't change the fact that the girls she'd called friends were nowhere to be seen.

Daisy liked this picture because, despite everything those in her House said about her, she still had friends. She _and_ Millicent still had friends, people outside the green and black walls of their Common Room who didn't sneer at them or whisper openly or ignore them because of who their parents were. And she'd made them just by being herself, as a sort of accident in a way, by doing her best to help her Team win the Cup they had all been celebrating. At Stonewall Primary, her popularity had been everything. She was Daisy Dursley; she and her brother ruled the school by the time they got to Year 6, with their respective gangs. Having loads of "friends" had been expected and she'd never thought the opposite.

The conversation she'd had with Quirell a few weeks ago rang in her ears as she finished up her album, tracing the beaded pattern with a finger. _What was ambition without loyalty_? What was power without allies – no, friends? What was success with no one to share it with? She was in no doubt that in six years time, they'd have a very similar picture. They'd be all grown up, and maybe some friendships would change, but Millicent would still be by her side, reluctantly pulled into the picture frame.

For the first time since she'd arrived at Hogwarts, Daisy had to reluctantly admit she might have actually learnt something from Quirell.

* * *

A week later Daisy was begrudgingly making her way up to the Entrance Hall, dragging her feet along the stone steps as much as she could. She'd forgotten that despite having gained five points for sneaking out from her Head of House, he had not been able to do anything to waive the detention McGonagall had assigned. And for the past fortnight she'd thought maybe, just maybe, their stern Transfiguration teacher might have been swept up in the exam frenzy and forgotten all about the affair. Evidently that had not been the case.

"Bet you're looking forward to this," Malfoy whispered as Filch paced a little way away from them, seemingly waiting for something. "Heard Muggles are used to all this cleaning business. I'll let you clean my half if you want – my treat."

Daisy ignored him. Pretending she was hard of hearing was the best tactic she'd tried out so far. She had until he repeated himself loudly, and then she'd have to acknowledge him somewhat lest she wanted to spend the afternoon looking for a counter-jinx. For a first-year he seemed to find an interesting arsenal of spells, and he liked to practise them on her when he (or Zabini, or Parkinson, or Nott for that matter) didn't appreciate her selective hearing.

She was spared having to acknowledge his comment by the arrival of the rest of their party. Ah, of course – how she'd also forgotten Harry, Neville and Hermione were all in this, when she'd been ecstatic that their House was losing at least one Cup this year, and complained to Millicent for some great lengths that she would have never be in this dragon mess herself had it not been for Harry was beyond her. Perhaps she needed to ease up on the revision. As they marched across the grounds, Neville making noises that sounded suspiciously like sniffs, Daisy thought it was a perfect moment to remind her cousin exactly why she was out of bed at this time on a non-Astronomy day – just in case he'd forgotten, just like he'd forgotten all about her big day.

"You haven't spoken to me in a week and all you have to say is 'This is your fault'?" Harry asked incredulously, keeping an eye on Filch. The caretaker seemed to have a thing for the use of torture, even if they were for the most part sure that was no longer legal.

"I didn't speak to you because you never wished me good luck on my Gobstones Tournament!"

"I forgot alright! We had more pressing matters!"

"_Pressing matters_?" Daisy mirrored Harry's disbelief. "_Hagrid_ is more important than _family_? I go to the trouble of and – I even got detention for you but Hagrid is more important?"

"I forgot Daisy. What more do you want?"

"An apology is always nice when you're in the wrong."

In the dark, Daisy couldn't see the glare Harry levelled at her, and their bickering was cut off by a familiar shout. Filch caught the relief in his face at the sound of Hagrid's voice and took it as an opportunity to reassure them they wouldn't be having fun where they were going.

"It's the Forbidden Forest for you, and I wouldn't bet on you all come out in one piece," he said, a cold smile twisting his wizened features. "Not that I'm a betting myself."

Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks. "The Forbidden Forest? We can't go in there at night – it's forbidden and - and there's all sorts of things there – werewolves I've heard."

Daisy turned to Neville at the choking sound he emitted; he was slowly edging from the Forest as Filch continued to taunt a paling Malfoy. Hermione was unusually quiet, her brown eyes fixed to the floor in silent resignation. The expected barrage of information on werewolves and the suspected inhabitants of the Forest never came. Was it even a full moon? Not that all werewolves were docile throughout the rest of the cycle if Quirell's reluctance to say much on the subject before their designated slot in the third year curriculum, was anything to go by. Her attention was caught by the grounds keeper that Harry always told her about but Daisy had never gone to actually see. The comments Slytherins made about him was enough to put anyone off, and with his large crossbow and quiver of arrows on his back, a large black drooling dog at his heels, she didn't quite think he was the BFG Harry made him out to be.

"Abou' time," he said. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, Hermione?"

"I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," Filch said coldly, "they're here to be punished, after all."

Hagrid frowned at Filch, thick eyebrow about the size of caterpillars knotting together. "That's why yer late, is it? Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've don yer bit, I'll take over from here."

Filch looked like he had something more to say, but he cast a final glance over the group of first years instead. "I'll be back at dawn," he said, his voice ringing ominously, "for what's left of them." Daisy half expected to hear him cackle as he turned and started towards the castle.

Malfoy seemed to be in the same frame of mind.

"I'm not going into that Forest."

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," Hagrid said fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay for it."

"I don't really see how going into the Forbidden Forest is the right price to pay for being out past curfew," Daisy pointed out, nervously pulling her sleeves over her hands as she gazed into the dark area.

"Yeh like bein' out o' yer beds at night, then yeh can at least be useful while yer at it."

"I'm not here to be useful," Malfoy tried, though his usually cool voice had lost its edge and he seemed to be wheedling. "I'm here to study – being useful is for servants. Detentions are supposed to be about writing lines and cleaning things. If my father knew about this-"

"-he'd tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts!" Hagrid growled. "Writing lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out! If yer think yer father would rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack! Go on!"

After what Daisy had heard Malfoy saying about his father, she was surprised when he didn't argue any further. It was doubtful he'd be expelled for refusing to go into a forest that was out of bounds in the first place, and it was unlikely that Lucius Malfoy, who according to Draco pretty much ruled the wizarding world and the Board of Governors, would let that happen. Daisy opened her mouth to say as much, but the thunderous look on Hagrid's face made her rethink this. They were already late, and she didn't particularly want her final moments before she was eaten by a werewolf to be being growled at by a giant man.

As it turned out, they were going into the Forest to look for something that had been killing unicorns. Splitting up did seem like a sensible way to try and track down the animal, separating to cover more ground, but putting all the people who wanted to be anywhere but the Forest in one group with one supposedly cowardly dog as company, not so much.

"You okay Neville?" Daisy asked, as they took the right path, delving further into the black Forest.

Neville nodded in reply, as though scared of what noise he was going to make if he opened his mouth to speak. In truth he was scared out of his mind, only comforted by the fact he wasn't alone with Malfoy, who despite looking as afraid as him probably wouldn't be beyond his usual dirty tricks. One of Malfoy's favourite pastimes was proving to Neville that he wasn't, and never would be, the brave Gryffindor he was expected to be so it was no use even trying.

They moved slowly, afraid that if they reached the unicorn much too quickly they'd find the thing that attacked it at the same time. There really was a lot of blood; unicorns were strong creatures to lose that much of their blood and still manage to walk, or rather stagger, leaving the silvery blue traces that was acting as their guide just about everywhere.

"What was that?"

Malfoy had stopped, and was looking straight ahead.

Daisy couldn't see anything. "What was what?"

"There was a slithering sound, up ahead," he said, raising his wand a little higher but nothing moved and in the quiet but there was nothing more than the distant sounds of the night. "I swear I heard it."

"Of course you did Malfoy," Daisy smirked. "It has nothing to do with the fact that someone's afraid of the dark."

"I'm not afraid of the dark! I'm afraid of whatever's killing unicorns – and you should be too! You'll be the first to go Mudblood!"

Neville flinched at the insult, but Daisy merely shrugged, cocking her head to the side as if contemplating something. "Nah, I think they'd prefer purer blood to mine. And your hair kind of glows like the blood, so they'll probably be attracted to you because of that. I think I'm pretty safe actually."

"S-shut up, Dursley."

Daisy exchanged a look with Neville that told him she was only teasing; it was fun to see Malfoy so out of sorts, a nice change from his usual sneering self. They continued on their walk, a little faster now that Malfoy was in a huff and determined to show he wasn't scared. There seemed to be less splatters of blood as they walked on, the path however, growing rockier beneath their; Daisy stumbled more often now that she could feel the tendrils of sleep creeping in as the original fear of being thrown into the Forbidden Forest began to slowly dissipate.

"RAHHH!"

Daisy let out a little scream, and Neville beside her yelped, sending up red sparks in the air in the panic, tumbling backwards as he tripped over a root in his haste to get away from the monster that turned out to be Malfoy with the hood of his cloak up, now howling with laughter at their reactions.

"That wasn't funny!" Daisy snapped, clutching at her racing heart.

"Yes, it was! Fatbottom's face is always good for a laugh – and _yours_! Who's scared now, Mudblood?"

"You're such an idiot!" Malfoy gawped at her like one as she shoved him, wiping the smug look his face. The Mudblood had never _dared_ - "Why would you draw attention to us like that? Do you want every creature in this Forest to know where we are? Your five minutes of laughter really worth our _lives_?"

"Stop touching me you filthy-"

"If you're going to get us killed, I'll shove you all I like."

"My father will hear about-"

"-how a little girl made you eat dirt, Malfoy," Daisy snapped, pushing him with a little more gusto, and smiling when he tripped backwards over a tree root, his wand emitting sparks as he landed with an oomph.

"You're going to pay for this! You stupid-"

If he was already planning to retaliate, he didn't get the chance because Hagrid appeared, crossbow raised, expecting to see them hurt or in some sort of distressed, but all he saw was Neville gingerly wiping mud off his hands onto his robes, and the two Slytherins face to face, wands held high.

"What's goin' on? Why'd yeh send sparks up?"

"Malfoy here thought it'd be funny to scare us – so Neville accidentally sent sparks up," she explained, wand still pointed in Malfoy's direction.

"She _pushed_ me!" he accused.

"Because you're an idiot!"

"I didn't think Longbottom was such a baby! For Morgana's sake - it was a _joke_!"

"It wasn't very funny!"

"Enough, enough," Hagrid said, pulling them apart and pushing them in the direction he'd come from. "Put those bleedin' wands away. One more word out the two of yeh, and I'll send yeh both packing, da' clear? Right, we're changing groups. Draco, you can go with Hermione-"

"No cannot! She's as bad as this one!" Malfoy snapped. "I _want_ to go back to bed! I've had enough of this! You're not even a teacher, you can't expel me, and – and if you do I'll have you fired!"

Hagrid did not seem to appreciate the threat. "I can leave yeh in the Forest though, an' I will if you don't quit yeh whinin', an' that's a promise."

The Slytherin gaped. "You wouldn't!"

"Try me."

So elated by Malfoy's sulking, Daisy followed him and Harry without argument, delving continuously further into the Forest, the trees growing thicker and the splashes of unicorn grew larger and more frequent. They were a quiet group: neither Malfoy nor Harry had any particular desire to speak to one another, or Daisy for that matter, who agreed that she'd probably gotten under their skin enough for one night. They'd been walking for what seemed like ages when Harry stopped them; he'd spotted the unicorn, and from the eerie stillness of the gleaming white creature, it had finally succumbed to its injuries.

"Should I send sparks up?" Daisy whispered, feeling it inappropriate to speak loudly in the presence of such a sad scene.

Harry nodded, meaning to step forward to take a closer look, when there was a rustle of leaves. The bush on the edge of the clearing had moved. They all stood, frozen, as some hooded creature crawled from the bush and towards the unicorn, lowered its head and began to drink its blood.

"AAAAARRGGGGHHH!"

Daisy sprinted after Malfoy, a combination of Slytherin flight instincts and lack of desire to be a tasty treat for whatever that hooded creature was, propelling them through the Forest. They staggered along, squeezing their way through the trees and stumbling over roots and ducking low branches, but never stopping. It wasn't until they reached another clearing, and Malfoy drew to a stop that they realised that they were alone. Harry hadn't been running behind them, and that stupid dog that Malfoy had wanted so badly was nowhere to be seen.

"We've – we've lost the path," Daisy breathed, glancing around the clearing as she tried to catch her breath. There was no unicorn blood anywhere, and no tell-tale sign of a path. "Malfoy!"

But he didn't answer. The blond had dropped to his hands and knees and was shaking uncontrollably, and as Daisy crouched by his side, she noticed that silent tears was rolling down his cheeks and dripping onto the ground. She was at a loss of what to do; she'd never comforted a boy in her life. Dudley only cried because he wanted something, and the boys at their old school had usually cried _because_ of Dudley.

"Malfoy, we need to get out of the Forest," she tried. "I'll send up sparks-"

"No," he croaked. "Let's – the werewolves will come – the monsters will find us and –"

She resisted the urge to point out that he hadn't seemed to be particularly bothered by this fact earlier. "They'll find us here if we don't move. Whatever that thing was already has Harry. It doesn't need to get us too."

But Malfoy didn't seem to hear her. His fists clenched and unclenched, fingers dragging through the dirt, again and again.

"You can't run…you can't run from Fenrir Greyback…"

"Malfoy, _please_," Daisy pleaded, pulling at his arm. "Once we get to the castle, you'll be safe. And you won't need to run, and nothing will hurt you." She took his face in his hands and pleaded the smarmy git to come back from whatever nightmare he was in. She had half hoped he'd flinch away from her touch. She fought to squash the panic when he didn't. "You are Draco Scorpius Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, of the Pure and Noble House of Malfoy. You can't die on your hands and knees in a filthy forest, okay?" She shook his shoulders with all her strength. _"Okay?"_

He nodded slowly, allowing her to pull him up onto his feet and in the direction of the thinning trees. He followed her, stumbling at the quickened pace when she thought she heard the crunching of a twig somewhere to their right, all the time staying in that strange trance, leaving her to find the path and lead them to safety despite the fact that she could have done with stopping and having a good cry herself. They'd left Harry. She'd been so sure he was behind them…

They stumbled out of the Forest far from where they'd entered it. Daisy had never been so happy to see the large stone castle looming up ahead, beckoning them inside with a promise of a warm shower and soft beds. They didn't meet Filch on their way back up to the grounds even with the sky beginning to lighten nor did Hagrid seem to be home yet as they passed his hut – would they even care about the two Slytherins lost in the Forest? Daisy kept mumbling back random words of encouragement as they ran the last couple of metres to the stone steps that led to the Entrance Hall, Malfoy's hand still in hers as it had been since the clearing.

She stopped in the empty Entrance Hall, finally catching her breath, the sudden warmth making her want to shed her cloak and every inch of her calling for that shower. She was filthy and Malfoy even more so, first from where she'd shoved him and then from his little break in the ground. She made to move in the direction of the dungeons, but he held her back.

"_What_, Malfoy? Are there monsters down there too?" she snapped, slightly wishing she hadn't at the way he seemed to shrink. This wasn't the Malfoy she knew and hated, not with the tear-stained face and the dishevelled hair and the filthy hand that had not let go of hers. "What is wrong with you? You're safe now – just snap out of it already!"

He stumbled back as she wrenched her hand from his, his eyes widening but still silent. His eyes seemed to move from her and back to his still outstretched hand. Daisy could already see the words forming in his head. She'd heard them enough times; he didn't need to say them.

"Don't you dare, Malfoy – don't you bloody _dare_! I got you out of that stupid Forest, put up with your stupid sniffling and so don't you dare turn around and have a go at me for getting my filth all over you or something equally as witty. Just don't! You know what? I should have just left you in that Forest! One less Pureblood to make my life hell, one less Noble House line. I try and be civil to you lot and this-"

Daisy took a calming breath, unclenching the fists she had felt the urge to raise, to do the very thing Snape and Millicent were always warning her against. She wouldn't beat up the Malfoy heir and get away with it, not now and perhaps not ever. A Quidditch scuffle between Pureblood boys was laughed at; a Muggleborn blemishing a perfect son would be something else. She should have left him in the Forest.

"I hope," she continued, blue eyes flashing cold through their tiredness, "I hope that one day this Fenrir Greyback does get you. And it probably will given that without the Malfoy name, you're just a scared, _pathetic_ little boy. Neville really is worth a hundred of you."

Satisfied with the effect of those well-placed words, she turned on her heel, her thoughts on the imminent shower. Her mother would have already hosed her down if she had dared turn up at the house as filthy as she was now; she'd seen her do it to Harry enough times and the outdoor pipe had no hot water. The thought of her cousin pulled her to a standstill. She'd left him behind. He was a boy but she was also a month and a half older and she'd _left_ him. All alone.

Either way, she would regret this. Walking away and leaving Malfoy there in the Entrance Hall, all defeated and vulnerable in part because of her, brought back memories of her days in Stonewall Primary when she would rip into Hairy Mary in the middle of the playground for having the audacity to get better marks in the spelling test, leaving the other girl humiliated whilst she and her friends discussed the latest episode of Brookside. Then she had thought nothing of it but now… she wasn't that girl any more. But helping him meant being nice to the likes of him; the ones who aimed to have her so miserable so that one way or another, she never came back to Hogwarts or the wizarding world.

Daisy sighed. Why wasn't anything ever simple anymore?

"Let's go get you cleaned up."

Surprised there wasn't a Prefect or a teacher wandering around (but she supposed they only ever did when you didn't want them to), she led him to the closest girls bathroom, figuring that the girls one was always going to be cleaner than the boys one. It felt like taking care of a child as she did her best to getting him cleaned up, running his hands under the warm tap, soaping off the dirt, drying them gently before wetting the hand towel and using it to clean off his face until the dirt was gone and all that was left was the pale, pointed face of Draco Malfoy.

He didn't say anything the entire time; not when she cleaned herself up, wondering if he would comment on the brown stained water that whirled around the sink before running clear, not when she took off their cloaks and cast a cleaning spell she'd used on Classroom Three and thought it might work just as well on fabrics; he just stood there, staring off into some unknown. Apart from the initial flash of gratitude when she'd returned and took hold of his hand once more, his face showed nothing more.

"Do you want to go to the Hospital Wing?"

Grey eyes focused a little, and met concerned blue. He shook his head.

"Do you want to talk? Talking can help apparently."

He opened his mouth, but closed it when the first syllables caught in his throat. Her eyes widened as the shaking took over his form again, and she caught him as his knees buckled, wrapping his newly cleaned cloak around him and sliding back so that they were tucked under the sink. He did not protest, and Daisy didn't know what else to do or say that would make Malfoy snap out of this funk. Maybe she could try the Noble House line again; then he might finally realise that the person's whose shoulder he was crying on was supposedly beneath him, and he would demand that she cease her rocking right this minute and explain what she thought she was doing. But he knew who she was, and he didn't move.

Daisy didn't know how long they sat there; but he'd stopped shivering and she'd stopped rocking him, light was coming in through the bathroom windows and the birds had begun their morning song when he finally did speak.

"Thank you, Daisy."

It was the first time he had used her name and it sounded foreign on his chapped lips.

"Don't mention it," she said, watching him oddly as he straightened up, well as far as he could considering where they were. He had regained some colour, though his eyes were heavy with the lack of sleep and it was the first time she had seen his hair so unkempt. She picked out a clump of mud that had fought valiantly to remain attached to him. In other circumstances, she might have laughed.

"I'm…" He sighed, rubbing his heel of his hands into tired eyes. "I'm sorry for what they did to you. I didn't want – I'm not - I don't - I should have stuck up for you, somehow –"

Daisy cut him off before he could go further. "I don't blame you. I don't think I ever did. I mean, you weren't there, there was nothing you could have done."

But in this early morning he seemed intent on seeking redemption. "I could – I _should_ have stopped Pansy from the beginning. I just never thought she hated you that much."

"You could stop her now," Daisy shrugged, squishing the anger that whirled in her stomach into momentary resignation. "But you don't have to – just 'cause of tonight. I didn't help you because I wanted something from you."

"Then why did you help me?"

"Because we'd left Harry, and I figured whatever that thing was would just have to make do with a scrawny Gryffindor and a unicorn." Neither of their smirks quite reached their tired eyes. "I couldn't leave you. Slytherins stick together and all that."

"You Mudbloods are always so sentimental," Malfoy sneered, shuffling out from under the sink. "We treat you like utter crap and still ... Come Dursley, let's get back to the Common Room before they send out a search party for me."

Daisy followed him, rolling her eyes. She guessed it was a good sign. He surprised her by holding out his hand to help her up, and he did not wipe it on his robes afterwards.

"This doesn't mean we're friends, you know."

She looked at him for a moment before nodding.

"I know."

* * *

He'd certainly recovered that afternoon.

Daisy was on her way to the Library to see if Hermione had any news; judging from the lack of important messages, he was most likely alive – maybe a little angry that she'd left him, but a pissed off Harry was still one very much alive Harry. Malfoy was sat in an armchair, surrounded by an enraptured audience as he recounted his version of what had transpired in the Forbidden Forest. Curiosity pulled her to a stop.

"Potter just stood there, crying and wouldn't move. Might as well have been Longbottom for all he did. Of course, I knew I had to do something – I chose to leave. I grabbed Dursley too, because it's bad taste to leave behind a defenceless girl - even if she is a filthy Mudblood - and we ran through the Forest. She was crying, babbling about Potter. I slapped her, told her to get a grip and I as good as carried her the rest of the way. We had to take ages, skirting around trees to make sure it was safe – it took us half the night, but eventually we got out. Managed to get back without even running into Filch or a prefect. And all that time we were in there, that great big oaf didn't even bother looking for us."

"You could have died," Pansy said fearfully. "All for a Mudblood."

"Slytherins stick together," he reminded her. "I could have died because that stupid Hagrid left us there to die. Bet he was hoping I would - he'd even said he was going to leave me in there. Mark my words, when my father hears about this..."

In his dramatic pause, he looked up and noticed her standing a few feet away, watching him.

"Stopped crying have we?"

For a moment, Daisy contemplated telling them all the truth. She'd read somewhere about there being a way to show that she was being honest, some sort of magical version of 'Cross my heart and hope to die' that would reveal that her version was the real one. He'd been the snivelling wreck, and she'd saved him damn it. Shouldn't she be handed a medal of some sort and patted on the back?

But she didn't say anything. She just carried on walking.

This was a regret she could probably live with.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Another one of those building block chapters where you'll just have to bear with me – Daisy's slowly growing up and the hints have to be dropped somewhere, wink wink nudge nudge. Don't worry, she isn't going to suddenly realise how much she loves Draco Malfoy. I'll let them hit puberty first, or better yet, I'll do a J.K. and wait until the middle of a raging war for Malfoy to realise how awesome she is and given that she has the same hair colour as his mother they_ must_ be a match made in heaven! Ahem. I quite like their current relationship and will be very reluctant to change it (apart from the change that happens naturally when people grow up)._

_Remaining on the topic of pairings, are there any that you'd like to see in this story? Or would burn me at the stake if I put them together? Just some market research... Apart from that, all feedback is very much appreciated and motivating so don't be shy! Thanks for reading (subscribing, favouriting and reviewing too!) - until next time_.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

As the exams loomed, Daisy noticed that Malfoy wasn't the only one of her Housemates who was acting…a little off. She wasn't sure if the inner satisfaction of taking the moral high ground quite matched up to the smug looks she endured from her tormenters, when, for example, the contents of her bag mysteriously ended up scattered on the dungeon floors, Snape feeling obliged to make a quip in regards to investing in sturdier, _wizarding_ brands of schoolbags whilst making a great show of reluctantly coming to her aid because she was sporting a green and silver tie - _but_ the high road was (as she'd reluctantly accepted) a much safer path than stooping to a level that she could not hope to yet match.

The bane of her life (and potential candidate for the role of arch nemesis) Parkinson was having nightmares, stumbling out from her bed as Daisy sat on the window ledge at random hours of the morning, going over her Transfiguration notes whilst enjoying the crisp air of the increasingly early sunrise. They exchanged looks, but Daisy said nothing, pretending that it was normal that Parkinson's night robes stuck to her from night sweats and tear-induced snot wasn't dribbling from her pug nose. As Millicent had pointed out on the first day of term, once you had been on the receiving end of the Parkinson Terror you realised that there were some buttons that you really shouldn't push; and if the continued lessening of the Mudblood-related jabs from the Hags was anything to go by, this had been the right thing to do.

Nott, on the other hand, had broken out in a nasty rash that slowly covered his body the closer the exams drew, and spent most afternoons with Madam Pomfrey trying to find something to contain it. Whilst she refrained from making a remark about the scaly consistency of whatever was attacking the scrawny first year, Daisy was not beyond absentmindedly scratching herself when he was in the vicinity. He would eventually unconsciously pick up on the movement, and once he started, he did not stop. If all this itching bothered his best friend, no one knew about it; Zabini had been quiet before, but Daisy was certain she'd not heard the Italian's cold tones in at least a fortnight.

She understood why the years passing their OWLs and NEWTs were stressed – those were defining exams that shaped your very future in the wizarding world. All they had to do as first years was pass.

"Pureblood children, especially from the old families, are supposed to be perfect," Millicent said in response to her observations. Goyle had just caused a stir by declining to go to dinner. Apparently he _wasn't_ _hungry_. Crabbe looked particularly off-kilter to be walking to dinner without his best friend by his side. "And so far, the top students in our year are two Muggleborns _witches_ and Ravenclaws. If they don't find a way to top you and Granger…well, I wouldn't want to be them."

Daisy's brows knitted together in thought. "But what about you?"

"As long as my Herbology and Potions grades are fine, my parents don't really care. They're both experts in their fields and don't care about much else, so they know once I've found something I'm interested in, I'll be fine."

"And have you found it?"

"I'm twelve years old, of course I haven't. We're not all like you. Tell me, have you always wanted to take over the world, or is this just a recent ambition?"

"Before I got my Hogwarts letter, I did have my eyes set on graduating from Cambridge University – with Honours obviously," Daisy replied, skipping the appropriate steps on the staircase leading to the Entrance Hall. "I'd be giving up on my dreams of being a ballerina sometime in the next two years probably. And I always thought I'd work for Dad's business - you know, rising through the ranks until I got to those big boardrooms with the big shiny tables they tell you not to touch because you'll leave fingerprint smudges on them and all that. By the time he retired, we'd be a dominant force on the International Drill Market for sure. Not as exciting as Quidditch, though."

"I think," Millicent said as they made their way into the Great Hall, and took the nearest two seats as was customary, "that the Sorting Hat would have been sorely mistaken to put you anywhere else."

"What? Because I'm ambitious? No - you heard Hopkins last week in Herbology, he reckons that wizards are just sitting on the cure for cancer and if anyone's going to find it, it's going to be him."

"Good luck to him. The Hufflepuff will probably find that whatever cure he comes up with can't be used on Muggles because of the Statute of Secrecy or other such rot."

"But that's not fair!" Daisy exclaimed. She lowered her voice as people turned to look at her. She busied herself with the act of pouring pumpkin juice for her and Millicent, giving her Housemates time to go back to their own conversations. "They can't do that. People die every day from cancer – they just can't have a cure and keep it all to themselves. It's inhumane."

Millicent shrugged. "It's something about population control."

"But you can't use a disease as population control! Muggles – believe it or not - are humans too!"

"And my father – believe it or not – is a Muggle too," Millicent snapped back. "But there are just some things you can't do anything about, and you have to accept it, or take the Hopkins route and spend the rest of your life trying to change something when the people with the power _don't care_. And right at this moment, I don't care either - I just want to eat my chicken in peace."

"But-"

Daisy was cut off by a chicken leg being waved menacingly close to her face. "_If_ you absolutely have to talk, you can recite the twelve uses of dragon's blood to me because I can only ever remember ten."

"But-"

"Or the order of the outcomes of the First Goblin Wars. The only sounds I want to hear coming from you are to be useful or I don't want to hear them at all. I'm tired."

Daisy pouted. "You're no fun Millie."

"Just eat your food."

* * *

Daisy emerged from their last exam smiling.

She'd taken to doing so after Transfiguration when she realised that the happier she looked, the further Nott's rash grew. It was amusing to watch, much more so than his scratching attacks where anything within his reach qualified as a back scratcher. Daisy might have felt bad if he hadn't spent most of the year making sure she felt worse. Even so, she'd quite enjoyed that exam in itself; she quite liked History of Magic, even if she did wonder at times if it wasn't because so few people did. She was perhaps the only first year to have ever read his living work, and as a Muggleborn found his focus on the goblin wars fascinating as opposed to dated, not having grown up in a household where the woes of the wizarding world originated from those "blasted Muggles".

It was a bright sunny day, and the first year Slytherins took a seat under the shadiest tree on the grounds, something about pale dispositions, discussing the last of the exams and holiday plans. Though Daisy and Millicent rarely contributed to the conversation, much like Crabbe and Goyle who seemed to always be somewhere else, being invited to sit with them was a major step in their snail-paced climb of the Slytherin social ladder. Daisy owed it for the most part to Draco's intervention, which despite its subtlety (he still liked to practise his catalogue of hexes on her when it took his fancy), had curbed much of Parkinson's nastiness, who in turn, given their early morning run-ins reigned in Greengrass and Davis, and Nott and Zabini had had more on their mind of late than petty remarks.

"And what are you doing Dursley? How do Muggles while away the summer?"

"We go on holiday," Daisy answered, raising her head from where she had made a small pillow from her robes. She accepted the bottle of Bubbly Pink Brew offered to her, a fan of the wizarding variant that allowed you to blow bubbles – if you hadn't outgrown that sort of thing of course. "And there are always festivals and garden parties in the summer."

"Bet they're nothing like ours," Greengrass said lazily, flicking her auburn hair over her shoulder.

She shook her head. "No. Nothing's quite like magic."

She let their chatter wash over her, feeling herself dozing, head rested on discarded robes as she watched more and more students come onto the grounds, setting up blankets and taking over the shady spots. A group of Hufflepuff boys were climbing a tree, and over at the Lake the Weasley twins and their friend with the dreadlocks seemed to be lavishing the Giant Squid with attention as it basked in the warm shallows. She was glad that they'd taken up under the shadiest tree; she didn't want to be out in the open, what with the sweltering heat and not a cloud in the brilliant blue sky…

Just as her eyes drew to a close, she caught another flash of ginger, but this one drew her attention. Propping herself back up onto her elbows, narrowed eyes followed the Golden Trio as they dashed across the grounds and back up to the castle. Her gut instincts churned – those three were most definitely Up To Something.

"I'll be right back," Daisy said, pushing off the grass, and forcing herself to walk at a leisurely pace, so that _she_ didn't look like she was up to something, or in dire need of the loo.

She arrived at the Entrance Hall as McGonagall was picking up books from the floor, her face showing signs of annoyance. "I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine."

Daisy waited until McGonagall had rounded the corner before emerging from her hiding place. "What's going on?"

Hermione, who had her back to her, jumped.

"Dumbledore's gone," Harry explained quickly, not even bothering with the usual 'Hi, Daisy, didn't see you there!' or give time for Ron to deliver his witty comment on skulking Slytherins. "Snape will have a clear shot at the Stone-"

"How many times do I have to tell you Harry," Daisy huffed, "he just wouldn't-"

"You said he wouldn't hurt me. That doesn't stop him from-"

A gasp from Hermione drew the quibbling cousins attention and with good reason: Snape had just appeared seamlessly from the shadows. Despite the heat he was in the same robes he wore during the harsh Northern winters: long sleeved, high collared and black. He peered at them.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

"Good afternoon sir," Daisy greeted back, a little too cheerfully perhaps, compared to the stares the Gryffindors were giving him.

"Why are you not with your fellow Slytherins Miss Dursley? You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said kindly, the momentary accompanying smile incongruous on his usually sneering features. "_Especially_ in present company - people might start to think you're up to something."

"We were just heading to the library actually - to settle a question on the impact of the Two Hundred Year War which-" He fixed her with such an intense gaze that Daisy quickly took back her words. "_Which_ can wait until tomorrow."

"As can other things. I suggest that you _all_ go and take full advantage of the weather." As they made to walk back outside, he called them back. "Just one more thing - be warned Potter. I am not quite so tolerant of your midnight wanderings. If _I_ catch you out of your bed past curfew, I will personally ensure your expulsion. That is all."

With that, he strode off in the direction of the staff room.

"What an actual git," Ron muttered as they sat down on the stone steps. "So, what's the plan?"

"We have to stop him," Harry whispered urgently, running a hand through his hair. He still needed to find a spell for it, but had been putting it off since his aunt mentioned it. As much as he wanted her to be finally stop nagging about it, he quite liked it. "For now, one of us better go to the staffroom, keep an eye on him in case he goes to the third floor."

"And what about Quirell?" Daisy asked.

"Look, Quirell's afraid of his own shadow. Knowing him, he's probably somewhere letting a bunch of people cheat on their DADA exams because he's too chicken to say anything."

"He tried to kill you," Daisy reminded him. "If I hadn't set his robes on fire-"

"Just keep an eye on Snape," Harry snapped. "And if Quirell happens to be there, then keep an eye on him too if it makes you feel better."

"All right Potter, keep your hair on. So what do I do afterwards?"

"Meet us in our Common Room. I'll give you the password. We can trust you with it, right?"

With the Gryffindor password committed to memory, Daisy hurried to the staffroom. She positioned herself on the wall opposite the door, running a hundred and one excuses through her mind that she'd throw at the teachers if they should ask her why she was inside, and not like most students, enjoying the lazy interlude that lay between exams and the end of term. She hoped that Snape hadn't already left and that in her absence she wasn't being forgotten. She told herself off as soon as she finished this thought.

She was trying to stop, according to what Harry had deducted since his near-death experience in the Forest, the rise of You-Know-Who, here – why should she care that she was missing out on afternoon snacks with a bunch of people she didn't necessarily like? No, she was pretty sure that she did not like any Slytherin in her year bar Millicent, and the less time spent in their company, the better. It was just that, some days, only some mind, she missed being popular. With another deep breath, she rid herself of the last of the niggling though. After ditching Harry in the Forbidden Forest, she owed him at least this much. Even if she was pretty sure he was barking up the wrong tree. Yes, Snape did seem like the type to skulk about in a Forest but surely he'd have killed the unicorns a little better? He could silence an entire classroom of rowdy teenagers with one look; one glare should have finished the poor creature off in a swift and humane way.

Daisy jumped as the familiar voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Miss Dursley. If I'm not mistaken, we only just recently parted company?"

"Yes, well, I had something I needed to ask you - sir," Daisy said, trying to conceal how flustered she felt. Snape was not an easy adult to lie to. He raised an expectant eyebrow. "And Professor Quirell actually."

"What could you possibly have to ask that would concern both of us?"

"I was reading an article recently on the use of Potions on the battlefield, and the author was comparing it to Muggle chemical warfare, and I was, you know, wondering what you both thought of it. I mean, err, is it a weapon or a defence…against the Dark Arts?"

It took all her strength to keep her gaze steady as her Head of House renewed his intense scrutiny; it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, especially when he towered over her, peering down past his hooked nose. Would he buy it or would he personally frog-march her outside, threatening another round of detentions if she failed to comply? Her hands were already tingling in protest at the thought of scrubbing out more cauldrons; she'd had enough to last her a lifetime.

"I wasn't aware you read Potions periodicals, Miss Dursley."

"Yes – sometimes, when I can't sleep or revise. Millie – Millicent - Bullstrode – gets them from her mother, but she's not interested in Potions so she passes them to me."

_At a high price_, Daisy thought bitterly as Snape pondered over the validity of her words. It turned out that Millicent quite liked the BN's Petunia sent over with the owl every couple of weeks, and the only way Daisy ever got her hands on the _Potioneer's Ponderance_ was by parting with her smiley-faced biscuits. Which Daisy thought was hardly fair since Millicent would just put them in the bin or let them pile up somewhere in her trunk anyway. Bloody Slytherin.

"I believe you raise a valid point of discussion."

Daisy's eyes widened involuntarily. "Y-you do?"

"Yes. Seeing as Professor Quirell is not in the staffroom, we shall seek him out in his office. Come along."

Shocked that it had worked, Daisy followed Snape through the cool corridors, passing a fuming McGonagall on their way. She was sure she heard the dark-haired witch mumble something about Potter and his nerves, but she was too busy keeping up with Snape's long strides to be able to dwell on it for long. Quirell was indeed hiding away in his office, the windows shut despite the stuffiness of the room, and even after an entire school year, Daisy couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at the overwhelming scent of garlic that in the heat had taken on an sickening sweet edge to it.

Quirell wrung his hands nervously as Snape told him the point of their visit.

"I-I-I h-have n-never g-g-given it much thought," he stuttered, his eyes flickering from Snape to Daisy. "I s-s-should think S-S-Severus that you had e-e-enough knowledge on b-both subjects to o-offer a w-w-well rounded opinion."

"Nonsense Quirinus," Severus smiled. Quirell shrunk back into himself; it was admittedly a little creepy. "You are obviously a fine Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher if Miss Dursley sought out your opinion. And what better way to while away the time before dinner than a hearty academic discussion?"

"I-I-I-I…"

Besides stuttering, Quirell could find no reason (at least not one instantly dismissed by his the Potions Master) for the Slytherins not to stay and stay they did. Snape had a store of sarcastically heart-warming and prompting comments and questions to aim at his colleague, and with Quirell's stuttering growing worse as time dragged on, an answer that might have taken a non-stutterer not even all of three minutes to give, took almost ten painstaking minutes. Perhaps he thought that the longer it took his interlocutors might give up, but Snape seemed comfortable in his seat, even conjuring cool beverages for them all to consume, and Daisy did not mind at all. She sipped at her iced pumpkin juice, curiously following the conversation, wondering _why_ Snape didn't teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. He certainly knew a lot about it. Quirell only drank his offered beverage after Snape insisted, stating he might take offence otherwise, and the Defence teacher seemed to prefer the chances of poison to dealing with an offended Snape.

* * *

Daisy's stomach grumbled as the trio made their way down to the Great Hall dinner. She felt proud of herself as she took the empty seat next to Millicent, her Professors bidding her a good evening before continuing up to the staff table, Snape continuing to hold Quirell in a reluctant conversation.

"Where have you been?" Millicent demanded, bringing Daisy's her attention back to the table. Everyone was looking at her. "It doesn't take three hours to go to the ladies' room."

"Ran into Professor Snape and Professor Quirell. We were discussing the uses of Potions in Defence Against the Dark Arts over drinks," Daisy explained. She wrinkled her nose. "I don't think I'll ever stop smelling garlic."

"_You_ were with Snape and Quirell discussing things?" Nott said disbelievingly. "But you're a- you're a _first year_!"

"Doesn't stop me from reading, does it?" She smirked at him, the edges of her lips quirking upwards as his hands reached up to the blush that had spread on his neck and stayed there. She turned back to Millicent. "Not that Quirell said anything interesting. It was Professor Snape who knew what he was going on about."

"Rumour has it he's been after the Defence Against the Dark Arts post since he's been here," Millicent said. "I bet he's up there right now convincing him he should retire."

And it did look like it might be the case. This was the most they'd ever seen the raven-haired teacher engage any member of staff in a conversation that wasn't accompanied with a constant scowl or sneer or a strange mixture of the two. You had the distinct impression of a predator circling his prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and disembowel the poor creature; Quirell most likely wished Snape would just poison him already.

"It's no rumour," Zabini said, breaking his exam-period vow of silence. "No Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher has lasted long since Snape's been a teacher here. Strangely, Dumbledore still has yet to get the hint."

And with Dumbledore absent, it would be a prime time to assassinate Quirell. Daisy might have felt sorry for the stuttering wizard as Snape guided him out of the Great Hall with talk of post-dinner drinks in the latter's office had she not been worried that they might soon be conspiring to steal the Stone to become millionaires, live for centuries and/or resurrect a Dark Lord who was supposed to be vanquished and feasted on unicorns. Hermione was slightly put out that she had missed out on an academic discussion when she told them (veering dangerously close to bragging) of the success that was her stalking, but Harry was more concerned that they couldn't exactly follow them now.

"So what _are_ you going to do?"

"We're going after the Stone," Harry whispered, mindful that McGonagall had been eyeing them suspiciously as they left the Great Hall. He put a finger to Daisy's lip, silencing the outburst before it could reach her vocal chords. "Prevention is better than the cure, right? So we'll get the Stone before Snape – fine, _or_ Quirell – can get to it."

She batted his hand away. "Are you _crazy_? If Snape catches you, you'll be expelled!"

"And he'll be out of a job. I'd like to see him explain to Dumbledore why he's after the Stone."

"You _are_ crazy," was all she could manage as she stared at his determined face. He had changed so much from the scrawny little freak who stared down at the floor and shuffled around behind her. She reached out and flattened his hair like her mother always did, comforted when he didn't move away. She sighed, dropping her hand, defeated. "What do you need me to do?"

"Try and keep an eye on Snape for me. If he tries to get away, just throw whatever hex you know."

Hermione was outraged by the suggestion, "She'll be expelled!"

"Don't worry, we'll all be expelled together," Ron said, half-joking, half-serious.

"Be careful Harry," Daisy said, giving her cousin's arm one final squeeze.

She wanted to tell him to stop being stupid, that they'd catch the thief and they should let the adults deal with this, that he didn't have to do this; but his emerald eyes glowed with sheer determination, and she remembered this was You-Know-Who they were dealing with, the man who had robbed her of an aunt, and Harry of parents. The least she could do, she reminded herself, was keep an eye on Snape.

He returned the gesture.

"You too."

* * *

It was hard sneaking out of the Slytherin Common Room now that her Housemates were intrigued as to what she was up to. For a split moment she missed the 'good old times' when no one cared enough about her to notice she was there unless they needed someone to tease, but she was growing rather adept at telling herself off in regards to her silly thoughts. Two games of Gobstones, one quick game of chess where Malfoy massacred her in his attempt to "teach the Muggleborn something", and a round of 'Let's make feel Crabbe and Goyle feel as dumb as they look' later, Daisy snuck out of the Common Room with a group of seventh year girls going to use the Head Student's quarters to carry on studying as others began to call it a night.

Daisy padded along to Snape's office, taking her shoes off as she neared the door with the golden name plate. _Professor S. Snape, Potions Master_. The light was on, and she pressed her ear against the door expecting to hear Snape's silky baritone and Quirell's stutter – but there was no sound.

Were they drunk? It often happened to her father and Uncle Alfred – after one too many glasses of wine, they could not hold a conversation even if they wanted to and settled into a silent contentment followed by a heavy slumber brought to a sharp end the next morning when Petunia came down to survey Harry's breakfast making and tell them _exactly_ what she thought of them. Daisy remembered one time her mother let her make drums out of pots and pans and told her to play a lovely song to wake her father and Uncle up.

Or maybe Snape had just left the light on, even if it didn't seem like him to do so.

In the end, she decided to knock. When no answer came, she turned the knob expecting the door to remain closed. But it opened, and she gasped at the sight that awaited her. Slumped on the floor behind his desk was Professor Snape. Her hands moved to his throat and then to his wrist to confirm that there was a pulse. She tried the only spell that she thought might work in this situation.

"_Finite Incantatum_," she said, but nothing happened. Cursing being a first year, she tried to figure out what to do next. Should she get a Prefect? Removing her robes, she balled them once more into a makeshift pillow, this time to place under his head, manoeuvring him into the recovery position she had learned the previous year.

Her next moves were decided for her as she stood up and noticed the two glasses of amber liquid on the desk. She'd forgotten about Harry! It was a miracle that she did not run into a Prefect as she sped up to the Gryffindor Common Room, skidding to a halt in front of the infamous Fat Lady.

"_Pernickety_!" Daisy snapped at the portrait, which swung forward before realising she'd just let in a student not with the usual red and yellow tie. Daisy did not know what she had expected, but it was not to see Neville lying in the middle of the plush circular room, decorated rather brazenly in the red and gold, mixed with a warm dark wood. It seemed that the her House wasn't the only one that was fond of its colour scheme. After the darkness of the Slytherin Common room, it was a little…_much_, but she would have loved it at the beginning of the year. It was welcoming, comforting – she was glad Harry had been Sorted into Gryffindor. It was exactly what he'd needed.

She walked over to Neville, noting that he was lying rather rigidly, his arms snapped by his side.

"Neville, what are you doing?"

The panicked flutter of his eyes answered her. This time Finite Incantatum worked, and Neville moved his limbs stiffly, rubbing the spot on the back of his head which had hit the floor. "Who did this to you?"

"_Hermione_!" he cried out, somewhere between upset and outraged. "They've gone out Daisy – Harry, Ron and – she _cursed_ me! I don't know where but they've gone! After she cursed me!"

Daisy swore colourfully, helping her friend to his feet as he continued to mutter about Grangers and Malfoy. What would she do now? Was Quirell on their tail or had he done whatever he'd done to Snape straight after dinner so that they'd be catching up to him soon? Or meeting him as he came back out? Crap, crap, crap. Either way Harry, and his friends, were in trouble.

"Come on, Neville," she said, pulling the reluctant boy through the portrait hole. "I'll take the fall if we get caught – they're just points! Come _on_, we have to tell a teacher. They could be in trouble!"

McGonagall was closest, though she was certainly not pleased by this intrusion.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, vanishing the stacks of scrolls she had been marking before they burst in. "Out of bed – _again_!"

"It's urgent," Daisy pleaded. "Harry, Ron and Hermione have gone after the Stone and Quirell's after them! Or before them – or, I don't know! But they're in _danger_."

"Quirinus? I don't understand."

"Look, Professor, Quirell is after the Stone. Harry has gone after it to stop him from getting it and taking it to You-Know-Who, who's apparently – according to a centaur anyway – is somewhere in the Forbidden Forest feasting on unicorns, waiting for it. And given what he's done to Snape, I don't think he'll just give them detention if he finds them there!"

McGonagall paled. "What has happened to Professor Snape?"

"I don't know – I just went to his office, and he's out cold."

"Take me to him."

McGonagall sent something silver out of the open window before ushering the first years down to the dungeons, their hurried footsteps echoing through the empty hallways.

"I put him in the Recovery position," Daisy mumbled as the Gryffindor Head of House tried to rouse her colleague, with the same success despite the more complicated twirls of her wand. "Is he alright? What is it?"

"I don't know, Miss Dursley, I don't know. We shall have to get him to the Hospital Wing." She crossed over to the fire, throwing something in from the pot by the fireplace that turned it green. Daisy's eyes widened as she stuck her head in, her words muffled. "Poppy! Severus is hurt. I am sending Dursley and Longbottom up there to you."

She conjured a stretcher and levitated Snape's body.

"What are you going to do Professor?" Daisy asked, feeling a panic welling up inside her.

"If what you say is true," McGonagall said gravely, "I shall have to alert the other teachers. Go on, you must hurry. We will take it from here."

They were out of breath by the time they had manoeuvred the stretcher up the stairs, worrying that he would roll off. Neville was particularly afraid that his Potions Professor would suddenly regain consciousness and demand how it was he couldn't even manage to competently guide a charmed stretcher through the halls.

Madam Pomfrey was waiting by the door and immediately moved him to a bed, drawing curtains around her as she set to work. Unsure what to do with themselves, Neville and Daisy sat on an empty bed, and waited.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: End of Year One

Chapter Thirteen

"Is he going to be alright?"

Madam Pomfrey jumped at the voice, the clutched hand to her chest willing her heart to calm down from the scare. She had not even noticed that a new hand had appeared on the clock hung above the doorway and pointed to 'Worried Visitor' as entranced as she was with the piles of half-rolled parchments and dusty tomes lying open before her, consulting them whilst occasionally stopping to jot down a point that she did not wish to forget. It had been a busy couple of weeks, dealing with stress-induced illnesses, made even stranger by the twist each individual magical signature could add to common ailments and then only a couple of nights ago she'd had to tend to two patients carrying injuries of the sort that she had not had to face in a long time, and working in a school full of magical children she saw all sorts. They were still in her care, and whilst one was sending her to her medical almanacs and research notes she had not consulted since the beginning of her Healing career, the other was taking up valuable time by forcing her to deal with owl after owl tapping on the windows.

"Harry should be awake some time later today," she reassured, putting down her quill to give the student her full attention. "As I told Hermione and Ron, there is nothing to worry about. The Headmaster got to him in time, and after some more rest, he'll be as good as new. There is absolutely no need to look so worried."

"That's good to hear," Daisy smiled, though it could not remain forced for long when it was fighting against furrowed brows and downcast tired eyes. "Well, from you anyway. I did wonder if they were just saying that, just to make me feel better and McGonagall asked no one to come to the Hospital Wing unless they're really ill so I thought maybe – and I was scared but I wasn't and I thought I'd got there too late – I keep forgetting him, because we were never really close you see and he forgets me sometimes as well but at least we're friends and we talk now and –"

She wasn't sure when she'd began to cry, but Daisy found her sleeves inadequate for the arduous task of stopping the tears, no matter how hard she swiped at them and told herself not to be silly. She hated when she cried. Madam Pomfrey got up from her desk, and bustled over to the first year.

"There is _nothing_ to worry about," she soothed, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You have my word as a Healer that Harry is fine. Now, when was the last time you got some rest?"

Daisy shook her head. "I don't know. I can't sleep. I keep – it's all my fault!"

"Oh dear." She guided Daisy to an empty bed, taking a seat and gesturing for her to do the same. Though a little hesitant, once she was sat next to the plump motherly woman, she could not help but lean into her open arms and cry. Madam rubbed her arm gently, all the while offering soothing words. "Of course it isn't your fault. Mind you, I can certainly point a few fingers, but it won't be at you. What a silly idea to think that something like this could be your fault."

But it wasn't silly to Daisy. It had been going through her Head ever since Professor Vector had accompanied her back down to the dungeons, shortly after Harry and Dumbledore's return, the Arithmancy Professor also on her way to inform the Slytherin Prefects that she would be the acting Head of Slytherin whilst Snape was indisposed. The adrenaline from the night's events had quickly warn off, and in the cocoon of her four poster bed, relief that Quirell had not managed to get his hands on the Philosopher's Stone had been dampened by the reality of everything. Harry and Professor Snape were both hurt.

"I waited too long," Daisy continued as her tears lessened to occasional sniffs. "If – if I had just gotten there earlier, if I had said something – why didn't I just _say_ something? I knew what he was planning, he could have been hurt – why are boys so stupid! He could have ended up like Professor Snape. And no one is saying anything good about him so everyone – everyone is saying he's dead and if I hadn't given him a reason to talk to Quirell he wouldn't be – he wouldn't be _dead_!"

"Right, I do believe the best thing right now would be some much needed rest," Madam Pomfrey said pragmatically. "I can assure you that Professor Snape isn't dead, and that the state he finds himself in is far from your fault. After all, you brought him to me didn't you?"

She nodded feebly, not fighting the Matron's gentle guiding under the white linen covers.

"And you alerted Professor McGonagall to their disappearance did you not?"

"But it was too late," Daisy insisted. "I was playing chess with Malfoy and Harry was out there fighting for all of us. I should have been there with him. I could have done something – anything. But I left him alone, like we always do."

"Could you have fought off the darkest wizard of our times?" Pomfrey asked in turn, handing her a conjured goblet of what seemed to Daisy to be honeyed milk. She took a few sips under the Matron's persistent gaze, barely illuminated by the single candle on the bedside. "You did everything you could have done Daisy, short of going in his place and ending up just as hurt. Harry merely needs more rest, and you will have your Head of House back in no time. But for the time being, get some rest. Too much excitement." She took the goblet back with a heavy sigh. "Sometimes I have to wonder what Albus thinks he's doing."

"You promise me they'll be okay?" Daisy asked one more time, pulling the covers up to her neck. She was fully dressed, in the first pair of jeans and jumper that she'd thrown on in her haste to sneak out of the dorm at three o'clock in the morning, but this did not register. The Hospital Wing cushions were actually quite comfortable.

"Harry is fine."

"And Professor Snape?"

"Get some rest, dear."

Daisy wanted to ask more questions, there was something off about the Matron's evasiveness, but her eyelids were growing steadily heavier, and sleep claimed her before she knew it.

* * *

"Fatbottom! Just the Gryffindork we're looking for."

Neville might have ran if he and his body had an agreement in which it ran in the opposite direction of the incoming upper year Slytherins, none looking at him much too pleasantly, when he asked it to; as it was, he stood rooted to the stone floor of the previously empty corridor. He'd taken the long way down to the Great Hall for dinner in hopes that he'd run into fewer people than the main staircase – none at all, would have been ideal really – but luck was never on his side. When he wasn't tripping over his own feet or trying to coax Mrs. Norris into returning Trevor to him alive, he was being cornered by people who had the combined fear factor of Professor Snape. And that was pretty high.

"I-I am?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact you are. Malfoy tells us you might know the location of our resident Mudblood," the tall blond explained, towering over Neville as he spoke. The latter was sure he'd seen him somewhere before, but his mind was a blank filled with nothing but fear. "And it would be a shame for me to graduate without first bestowing upon her a parting gift."

"You – you shouldn't call people that," Neville said.

It was a reflex; his grandmother had taught him many things, and a vast majority of her lessons rarely stuck, but in between the disappointment he'd learnt that there were some words that should not be uttered. And the M word ranked high among them. The Longbottoms were the type of Purebloods who would never debase themselves by uttering filth. The smirk on the seventh year's face told him it was probably not one of his best reflexes.

"You hear that boys? Fatbottom here says we shouldn't call people that. You're right – we should apologise, shouldn't we? And we will - right after you tell us where she is."

He flinched at the long finger that poked him in the chest, right where his Gryffindor crest was, as if that was any way to coax an answer out of a person. "I don't know where she is. I – I don't e-even know who you're talking about."

"True, too many of their kind running around," the Slytherin sneered, spitting on the ground at the mere thought of them. Neville's mind was filled with his Gran's shrill voice, and only fear stopped him from grinning at the thought of what she would do if she got her hands on this spitting, bullying, uncouth youth. "I mean the one in my House."

"I don't know," Neville repeated. Was it even common knowledge who was a Muggleborn or not in any House? It was such a strange Slytherin hang up, knowing who was or wasn't. Besides Daisy and Dean, he wasn't a hundred percent on who the other Muggleborns in his year were. Maybe that Perks girl in Hufflepuff? She was nice. "I – I only call people by their names."

"He thinks he's clever," one of the dark-haired Slytherins hanging back snarled.

"You think going on a little adventure with Potter makes you a big guy?" Neville had difficulty shaking his head as their blond leader pulled the collar of his robes increasingly tighter around his throat. "Speaking of which, perhaps you'd also like to clear up some…_confusions_ that have appeared in the rumours. How did Quirell die?"

Neville gulped as the hold became very uncomfortable aroud his throat. "I don't know."

"What was he after?"

He tried to lessen the hold by shaking his head as vigorously as he could manage. "I don't know."

"Is Professor Snape dead?"

"I don't _know_!"

"You don't know much of anything, do you? I say we make him squeal like the little piggy he is, get him to pass the message on to the Mudblood, if he ever finds her – or rather, if they ever find him in one piece." Though his brain knew he was bluffing, his treacherous body shook at the threat, inciting another sneer from the Slytherin. "The last of the House of Longbottom, as pathetic as his parents. Isn't that right, piggy?"

Neville closed his eyes. If he was going to die, or get the worst hexing he'd gotten since setting foot in Hogwarts, he at least wasn't going to cry. Even if he had some idea of Daisy's current location, which was only vague at best, he'd never give it to them. Gran always wanted him to be more like his father, and well, here he was, about the irritate the hell out Filch when he'd have to peel his remains from the stone walls.

"Perhaps you gentlemen would care to explain to me what is going on?"

Or maybe not.

He opened his eyes as he felt his collar released and straightened out with a few pats. He had not recognised the voice, but he certainly recognised the figure standing a few feet away decked in orange and aquamarine robes, yellow trousers peeking out from under them. The Headmaster certainly had a knack for saving first years; had he not come along, Neville was sure he'd be finding himself lying in a bed next to Harry – or Professor Snape, knowing his luck, who would no doubt kill him in his sleep.

"Just having a conversation with Neville here, Professor," the bully lied easily, his previous snarl turning into an appeasing smile which only served to darken Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes. "Inquiring into the health of his friends as one does."

"Strange way of inquiring you have there, Mr Higgs. I have found during my many years as a teacher that having your hands around a person's throat and pointing their wand at them whilst accompanied by several of your equally intimidating friends is not very conducive to conversation." The Headmaster turned to the first year. "Neville, are you all right?"

"Y-yes sir."

"Then feel free to carry on – I assume you were headed to dinner. Good, I believe the sausage and mash are quite delectable today." Neville did not need to be told twice, and hurried along, too scared to even trip once before he was safely in the Great Hall and earning strange looks from his Housemates. He did look rather pale. Dumbledore turned to the Slytherins before him. "As for you boys, I think a little chat is overdue, don't you? And to think Donahue, the Head Boy position might have been yours, but alas. We all make our choices and we must live with them."

Dumbledore turned and gestured for them to follow. Higgs could feel mutinous eyes upon him. They just _had_ to get caught when Snape was as good as dead; Professor Vector was nowhere near as good at talking her students out of trouble, mainly because they weren't really her students and she did not feel the need to. She even took points from them, and they were supposed to be her House, for the moment anyway. As they made their way up to Dumbledore's famed and partly dreaded office, Higgs came to a conclusion: first, he'd kill the Mudblood and then once his friends had killed him for leading them into the pile of dung, he'd kill Snape's ghost, because if this was anyone's fault, it sure wasn't his.

* * *

_Dear Potter,_

_We would like to thank you for your absence in your team's match against Ravenclaw. If you haven't already been informed, without the luck of the Boy-Who-Smells, your team was completely, utterly and rightly flattened. Had you thought to almost die around the first week of school, the Quidditch Cup would be in the hands of the rightful team. But we are fair people, and will give you this chance to redeem yourself and stay incapacitated. Indefinitely. _

_Feel free to not come back next year, or ever. We will understand, and forever praise you as the Boy-Who-Was-Smart-Enough-To-Leave. A troll will be burnt for you on Hallowe'en in remembrance of you. _

_Yours hatefully,_

_Your Betters_

"Well, that was nice," Harry concluded, scrunching up the letter he'd just read out loud and adding it to the pile of rubbish on the side of the bed. "Does Malfoy really have nothing else to do with his time?"

Daisy rolled her eyes. "You have met him, haven't you?"

The two cousins were finishing up the task of sorting through the missives and gifts from well-wishers, friends and admirers as well as the junk, though that was rare, that Harry had received during his sojourn in the Hospital Wing. There was a sizeable amounts of sweets that Daisy had taking to piling up on the bedside table as Harry made a note of the names of people at the end of each note, only really reading more than a few lines if he recognised it. He doubted he'd be doing this if Daisy hadn't insisted that it was only polite he send the friends and well-wishers thank you notes for taking the time to send him something, even if the vast majority he was sure he'd never even spoken to. Such etiquette had never been necessary on his part before because he'd never been on the receiving end of gifts. Madam Pomfrey had confirmed there was a way to duplicate thank you notes and place them in envelopes with a flick of wand – Professor Flitwick would no doubt help - and Professor McGonagall would certainly have a trick for getting a list of names onto individual envelopes if Flitwick did not. So here they were.

"Hey Daisy - if they sign it as a group, do we have to send a note to each of the group, or can I just write down the… First Year Knights of Ravenclaw?"

She looked up from her own pile of cards, eyebrow raised. "It does _not_ say that!"

"Does too!" Harry insisted passing her the note to see for herself.

"They can't just knight themselves," Daisy laughed, shaking her head at the neatly penned note, indeed signed with the 'First Year Knights of Ravenclaw'. There was even a pretty good attempt at drawing their own insignia – a raven perched on a sword. "Goldstein wouldn't know a sword unless it was a detailed diagram in the dustiest books in the Library. I bet you anything it was Boot and Cornfoot's idea. Those two are weird."

"I'll just put First Year Knights of Ravenclaw then?" He reached for the last of the parcels and notes. "You know, I think it's pretty cool how you know all these people. I mean, we have some classes together but I never really pay much attention to anyone else."

"It's 'cause you're too busy fighting evil."

"Something like that."

"I'm a people person; not that I really know all them, I just know _of_ most them. It's kind of a Slytherin thing. And Gobstones helped me get to know loads of people I wouldn't have otherwise spoken to. I would have asked you to join, but you're always too busy-"

"-fighting evil," Harry finished, throwing the Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans at her. "And playing Quidditch actually. But don't worry, I think I'm done fighting evil for awhile. Unless of course Voldemort comes back sooner than expected. Then we might have a problem."

Daisy pulled a face, partly to do with the radish bean she'd just bitten into. "Who or what is a Voldemort?"

"You-Know-Who's real name."

"That's it? That's the name all wizards apart from the crazy ones – being you, who goes off chasing after him, and Professor Dumbledore who thinks it's a good idea to sort of just let you – are afraid? _Voldemort_?"

"Yup. Dumbledore says fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself, so better to just say it." He jotted down the last of the names before going through the process of rolling up the parchment. "Maybe if we start saying the word magic a lot, your parents will stop seeing it as something scary and come round to the idea. They'll have to stop calling it you-know-what at one point, right?"

This time she did not grin back, her teeth worrying her bottom lip instead. "Don't you think that maybe there's a reason to be scared? So many people wouldn't refuse to say it if it meant nothing. I mean, weren't you scared when you faced him?"

"I was mostly scared that Ron and Hermione were hurt, and then what would happen if Quirell _did_ get the Stone and then there was a part where I was in so much pain that I was afraid I was going to die but… I don't think I was scared doing it. It felt right, like I was supposed to." He reached for a lone Chocolate Frog. The accompanying note had stated that the card was guaranteed to be rare – Harry wasn't surprised it was another Dumbledore. "I'm going to have to face him again someday anyway."

"Who says you have to?"

"He's not gone, not really. He'll come back, and I've got a feeling he'll try and kill me again, and once Dumbledore tells me why, I'll have more than enough reason to get him back." He sighed, turning the headless piece of chocolate about in his fingers. "He killed my parents Daisy."

"I bet he killed loads of people's parents," Daisy countered. "Why should you be the one who goes and nearly gets himself killed every time?"

"Because mine were special. They gave me something special that protected me so that all I got was this stupid scar. I'm the Boy-Who-Lived – it's like, I was chosen for this. And I'm not too bad at it really."

She snorted. "If it wasn't for Dumbledore, you'd be dead."

"Fought off a troll pretty well without his hemp. And they're a lot bigger than Voldemort."

There was a moment's silence before Daisy could no longer hold it in, and just laughed, making sure to land a playful punch on the nearest body part. "You're such an idiot, Potter."

"And you're just jealous, Dursley."

"_Harry!_"

"Not so tight, Hermione," Harry said, feeling the light throbbing in head returning as the flash of dark brown curls tickled his nose. She moved fast; he hadn't even noticed them arriving and he was facing the direction of the doorway. He reciprocated the hug, before she finally pulled away.

Ron restrained his own greeting to a wide grin, and pat on the shoulder. "All right, mate?"

"Not bad. You?"

"A lot better now we get to actually see you."

Feeling like a bit of an intruder in this reunion, Daisy excused herself to let the trio negotiate with Madam Pomfrey how much time the newcomers be allowed to remain in the Hospital Wing with their friend – until curfew was apparently not a suitable time. Perhaps the Matron was worried about her, but she'd made almost no fuss about Daisy remaining in the Hospital Wing with Harry; he'd already been awake for awhile when she finally woke up anyway, and had had a talk with Dumbledore by the sounds of it. He really had just needed a couple of days rest. And yet, despite her assurances about Harry turning out to be true, Daisy just had this niggling feeling that Madam Pomfrey's reassurances relating to Head of House were not quite as true; her answers were too vague and she was being too nice as if – as if to protect her from the truth. That she'd been too late and Professor Snape was…

With a quick glance at her surroundings to ensure that she wasn't being watched, she slipped through the gaps in the curtains around the hospital bed that apparently held Snape. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't to see him sat upright, surrounded by books and folders, scribbling away, only pausing to look at this unexpected intruder. Apart from being in a blue striped pyjamas and his hair looking a little messy, he did not look any more worse for wear.

A genuine smile of relief appeared on Daisy's face.

"Sir! You're alive!"

"One of these days I am going to ask that mangy hat why he thought placing you in my House was a good idea. Your proficiency for stating the obvious should have placed you firmly in Gryffindor."

Daisy blushed, but his biting response did not dampen the smile. "I'm sorry. It's just – everyone thinks you're dead, sir."

"The rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated."

"I'm glad."

"I estimate you'll be amongst the minority in the student body."

"I don't think the rumours of your death are the only thing that are exaggerated. You might not have chocolate but you've got flowers – and cards!" She took to her habit of filling the silence with her own voice when it grew too daunting, or awkward, ignoring his scowl as she approached the arrangement on the bedside table, casting only a quick glance at the array of cards propped up around the vase. "I guess you don't really get silver and green flowers but red and white doesn't seem like a terrible alternative. They're very pretty, if not a bit strange as far as flower arrangements go. Why would anyone put a daffodil right in the middle of it? Mum likes daffodils. They look a bit like this sometimes as well. A garden full of reds and purples and green bushes and then there's just this random splash of yellow. She'll always harvest – or is it gather? – all of them but one and it'll stay there until it dies and we have to wait all the way until spring for it to come back. When I was little I used to love that one daffodil. I can't really remember why."

"Because you were young, and the young love things without rhyme or reason."

The blush in her cheeks deepened as she pulled back from his bedside arrangement. He was giving her a very odd look, though perhaps it was to be expected. She had just barged into his personal space, told him that everyone thought him dead and then proceeded to tell him about stupid daffodils! The fact he hadn't chewed her out was testament that he was most likely on some of Madam Pomfrey's strongest painkillers.

"I'm glad you're alive Professor."

"So you've already said."

"I should probably go."

"And so the intelligence returns."

She turned to leave, but then felt that there was one last thing she really needed to say. "I'm really sorry, sir. I know it's my fault - if I hadn't dragged you into talking to Professor Quirell, you'd have never-"

He held up a silencing hand. "I would imagine it is dinner time, Miss Dursley."

Bowing her head, Daisy left through the drawn curtains she had first emerged from. She did not even pause at Potter's bed – her footsteps carried to the double doors of the Infirmary and then were no more. He sighed and laid back into the pile of pillows, returning to the books before him, but the words swam across like ants. He had not meant to be so cold with her. She had meant well, he knew that but he did not need reminding. Reminding that she had saved him from a fate worse than death, that he had been stupid enough not to notice the signs, that they'd all once again been saved by a bloody Potter and…daffodils.

He let out a growl, and bashed the book supposedly containing the answers repeatedly into his outstretched legs. Why did this have to happen to him? Why now? He would not – he could not – he Banished the book from his sight when the effort took more from him than he could afford to give, and he was forced to reluctantly admit that it did not bring about the much needed return of feeling to his legs.

* * *

Harry did not appreciate Madam Pomfrey's fussing until he was released into the world beyond the Hospital Wing; he'd only been in there five days, but suddenly everything outside its white walls seemed overwhelming. There were students milling about everywhere, in varying states of casual wizarding and Muggle dress, and they all seemed to know him; he smiled hesitantly, and felt like the Queen for all the waving he was doing. The Gryffindor Common Room, which he expected might have been his refuge, was suddenly hot and stifling despite all the windows thrown open to catch some of the late afternoon wind.

"Good to see you're in top shape Harry."

"Did you like the sweets, Harry?"

"Shame about the game, Harry – there's always next year, right?"

"So tell us, what really happened?"

"It's it true Quirell was trying to get the Staff of Merlin?"

"I bet it was something even more powerful."

"Is it true Snape died that horrible death on the third floor Dumbledore warned us about?"

"Err…"

"All right, that's enough - give the boy some space," Percy Weasley said, making an attempt to scatter the crowd gathered around Harry, making sure to tap his Prefect badge to emphasise his authority. "He's only just got out of the Hospital Wing. Let him at least get comfortable."

"Thanks Percy," Ron said, having finally made his way through the crowd to his best friend, and was now attempting to pull him in the direction of their dorm. "You should have said you were coming out now – me and Hermione would have come to get you. Everyone's so bored that it's nearly time to go home they've got nothing better to do but keep asking. Hermione's really good at ignoring them, or she's got this really evil stare that she gives…"

"It's been like this for the past five days?"

"Pretty much. We're all keeping quiet though – well, might have let _some_ details slip through and some people are smarter than they look at putting vague stuff together and making some sense of it. And Fred and George somehow know everything. Loads of people are saying that they've got access to the staff room."

"So everyone knows everything?"

"I said Fred and George know everything," Ron corrected, as he sunk down onto his bed, having already pilfered a handful of Bertie Bott's from Harry's nightstand that had been transferred from the Hospital Wing, "not everybody else. You should hear some of the rumours. Strangely, a lot of them involve garlic and Quirell turning Snape into a vampire."

"H-hello Harry," Neville greeted as he emerged from under his bed, clutching an indignant Trevor. The latter croaked out his own greeting. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much," Harry smiled, taking a seat on his own bed, glad to be back in the circular room with the red and gold theme; it was much more comforting than the clinical white of the Hospital Wing. "How are you? Sorry about the whole Petrifying thing."

"It's all right. I don't blame you."

"He blames Hermione instead," Ron grinned. It was only karmic justice that he should bite into a sweet that tasted oddly like earwax. He chucked the remaining couple aside, saving them for when his taste buds had forgiven him for that trauma. "So... the Leaving Feast – you guys looking forward to it? I can't wait for the food, Fred and George say they always save the best until last. I've only had one helping of lunch to make sure I'm well prepared for it. That's if the Slytherins gloating doesn't put me off my food."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"They've pretty much won the House Cup. I swear Snape was taking off points in his sleep."

* * *

The Hogwarts Great Hall was filled with much more than the usual end-of-term restlessness and eagerness for the rich platters and desserts that accompanied the Feasts. There was still speculation concerning the two missing spaces on the Staff table, unaided by the lack of decorations adorning the Great Halls. They were still wondering on what could have happened between Quirell, Snape and Potter for the first to have suffered the very painful death on the third floor corridor Dumbledore had warned them about at the start of the year. They'd figured out something was being guarded by all the teachers in the school, and the great Harry Potter had, with the help of all his friends of course, gone to apprehend the thief just like he'd fought the troll back at Hallowe'en, just like he'd defeated You-Know-Who when he was a baby. But details were still needed and the conspiracy theorists had yet to come up with anything concrete.

The undecorated Hall caused talk mostly amongst the older years for whom the Leaving Feast had become synonymous to the Snakes celebrating another year of Snape tyranny - no one could wrongly take and appoint points as he could – and so it was an odd sight to arrive to a Hall without the silver and green draping and a very smug Head of Slytherin. It was even odder that there were no draping at all. Had no one won the House Cup this year?

"I thought you said he was better," Millicent whispered as the hall continued to fill, the Staff Table filled and most of the students already present. "So where is he?"

"He was – he is," Daisy whispered back, her eyes falling to the empty seat that everyone was speculating about. Though a selection of students had corroborated her story, the general consensus was that both Snape and Quirell had thankfully decided not to heed the Headmaster's start-of-term warning. "He must not be better yet. Remember he was cursed."

"By Quirell?"

"Yes, by Quirell – yes, the one who fainted at the sight of a troll." Daisy sighed. "It's complicated, Millie."

"So you've said, a thousand times. I'm your supposed best friend, but apparently you can't even find a convincing enough lie to tell me, and your excuses, by the way, are terrible."

Daisy opened her mouth to defend herself but was distracted by the sudden hush that fell across the Hall. Harry had just arrived, flanked by Ron and Hermione. Harry's cheeks burned at the scrutiny – he'd not had a couple of days to get used to it, and it was worse than when he'd first arrived at Hogwarts. She smiled encouragingly as she caught his eye. Dumbledore arrived moments later, and the rest of the conversations died away. He was as cheerful as always, stood decked in his usual exuberance, this time magenta robes with golden detailing.

"Another year gone! And yet another farewell feast, where we all come together for one last time to tighten the bonds we have made this year, salute the friendships forged and the achievements of our fellow students – and what a year it has been! Firstly, a round of applause for Ravenclaw who are this year's Quidditch Cup winners!"

Polite applause from the rest of the Houses met the rambunctious cheers from the Ravenclaw table. They had beaten both Slytherin and Gryffindor, who were always regarded as 'the main contenders' within Hogwarts rivalry; they had a right to be ridiculously happy, particularly after their last game. The Gryffindor team never had a chance.

"Now," he began again, silencing the last of the congratulations to the Ravenclaw Captain who had thankfully managed to graduate with a Quidditch Cup under his belt, "as you may have noticed, the House Cup here remains to be awarded, and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff with three-hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

It was the Slytherins turn to show just how loud they could cheer. Amongst the cheering and stamping, there was whistling, Malfoy banging his goblet on the table and even Zabini had cracked a smile. They didn't care that there was no polite applause for them from the other Houses. All that mattered was that despite everything, one thing had not changed: the Cup was theirs.

"Yes, yes, well done Slytherin," Dumbledore congratulated. "However, recent events must be taken into consideration." The room went very still.

"And what are those, Headmaster?"

All eyes turned to the open doors. This action not only confirmed the identity of the voice they knew so well, but served to double check that the man stood in the doorway was not a ghost. A heavy silence settled over the Great Hall as the Potions Master made his way up to the Staff Table, the only sound the regular clacking of the walking stick he bore, the heavy lean betraying the gravity of his injuries. No one said anything, awaiting the response from an unusually blank faced Dumbledore, whose blue eyes, just like everyone else, followed the trajectory to the empty seat.

"Well you're just in time to see Severus," Dumbledore smiled. "It is so good that you can join us for this Feast. It most certainly would not have been the same without you."

He allowed for the hushed whispers to pass before he cleared his throat. He knew the students would need at least a moment to register what they were witnessing, distinguishing the occasional 'I told you so' amongst the disbelief that Snape really was alive, and sat in his usual seat glaring at the most of the student body. Apart from the walking stick, he didn't look any different. He was just as pale, his hair just as greasy, still dressed in his all-black long-sleeved billowing robes, his nose just as hooked and his eyes still as intensely hateful that most students knew it was better to focus on the Headmaster.

"The first points," the Headmaster began, "go to Ronald Weasley, for the best played chess game Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor fifty points."

The Gryffindors erupted in a loud cheer. If the points were being awarded to their adventuring first years, this could only mean they were still in the running for the House Cup; it didn't take a genius to figure out where the rest of the points were going to go to. It did, however, take a while for their excited cheers to die down and to allow the Headmaster to continue.

"Second to Miss Hermione Granger, for the use of remarkable logic in under duress, I award Gryffindor a further fifty points."

At the Slytherin table, Daisy mirrored Hermione's actions and buried her face in her arms. This could not be happening. Why was this happening? For _remarkable logic under duress_? Might as well award the points to every Ravenclaw who managed to answer their Common Room riddle with a full bladder or with Filch hot on their heels past curfew.

"Thirdly – to Mr Harry Potter-" Daisy let out a groan that echoed in the hush that had fallen at his name, "- for pure nerve, understanding and courage, I award Gryffindor House sixty points."

They'd drawn. Slytherin and Gryffindor had drawn for the House Cup - _lost_ the Quidditch Cup - all thanks to Harry. The din was deafening, Gryffindors yelling themselves hoarse as they patted the very students who had set them back in terms of points on the back. A tie she could live with, Daisy reasoned. And Higgs was leaving that year. After a nice long summer, it'd have all blown over, and people might just forget that she was related to Harry, that she might have had a helping hand in all of it. At least Snape was alive; he might stop them from throwing her in the lake, on the off chance that he could get past his hatred of Harry, his dislike for her own mother and the fact she was partly to blame for his condition.

Daisy lifted her head at the falling silence. Dumbledore was holding up his hand for silence, his smile aimed at the expectant Gryffindors. He wouldn't dare. He wouldn't.

"Courage comes in all shapes and forms; from the courage to stand up to our friends to having the courage to stand up for those who are supposed to be our enemies, but whom we consider otherwise. To Mr Neville Longbottom, I award twenty points."

It was the shock that stopped her from bursting into tears.

The Slytherin table was silent as they looked over at their rivals, Neville having disappeared under a pile of Gryffindors, others standing up to clap and cheer. Polite applause continued from the other Houses who reasoned a change in décor was about due. Millicent was whispering something to her, and she registered her hand grasping hers in solidarity, any disagreements over the past couple of days forgotten in her friends moment of need. Daisy had gone deathly pale and merely gaped at the wizened wizard who had just ruined _everything_.

"If you will, I have one more set of points to hand out before I allow all your voice boxes to rest," Dumbledore said, waving his hands at the students. A tense silence fell upon the Hall. Was he going to secure the Gryffindor win or was he - "Last, but far from least, to Daisy Dursley, for trusting in the right authority, I award thirty points to Slytherin House."

The roar around her was deafening. Daisy didn't catch the next words that Dumbledore spoke, only the green hangings that appeared around the Hall and the large banner which now hung behind the staff table depicting the Slytherin emblem; the silver snake looked as proud as any roaring lion. Snape shook McGonagall's hand, though his face bore none of the smugness one might have expected from him given that he had once again snatched the Cup from right under her nose.

Daisy did not disappear in an avalanche of hugs – that was not the Slytherin way – but there were pats on her shoulders, congratulatory smiles flashed her way and rude gestures made towards the disappointed Gryffindors, which were more than happily returned.

"Marcus, I think our little girl's growing up," Selena gushed, flicking away mock tears. "This year the House Cup, next year the Quidditch Cup – all thanks to us! We took her in, a culturally impoverished firstie and now look at her!"

Daisy grinned at Marcus' eye roll, turning away to smile politely at another Slytherin who seemed to think her name was 'Mudursley' as Selena placed a kiss on his cheek. Her hands shook as food appeared on the golden platters. She could already see Madam Pomfrey tutting about 'too much excitement' and Daisy would have to agree; she was still in some sort shock. One minute they'd won, then they'd lost but then - they'd won. Thanks to her. Well, they should have won anyway, but she'd secured their rightful win. They'd _won_.

"I was wrong about you, you know," Malfoy commented as they tucked into the feast, the Great Hall having settled into its usual bustle. Daisy looked at him questioningly. "You're not bad – for a _girl_, that is."

Daisy smirked. "You're not bad yourself, Malfoy - for the wrong sort."

"Surely you can tell me what _that_ was all about?" Millicent asked, when he was engrossed in a conversation with Nott and Zabini about his upcoming birthday celebrations to make up for the fact it had fallen on the day of their Charms exam.

"I think…I think me and Malfoy might actually have an inside joke."

At Millicent's glare, Daisy burst into laughter and pulled her into a one armed hug. It had been a crazy couple of days, an even crazier couple of minutes; she could barely get her head around it all. From that disastrous Welcoming Feast where everyone had stared at her like she was an alien, to now - it was like, _f__inally_, everything was as it should be.

Her House had finally seen her for _who_ she was and not what she was, her name was already engraved on a plaque in the Trophy Room for her part in one the best Gobstones teams Hogwarts had had in a long time, and even her archnemesis had nothing to say to her which was better than one might think. Daisy had persevered and she'd made it, and her father hadn't had to come in to threaten anyone. Not that his threats meant anything in this world; Marcus was much more effective in that area. But best of all, she finally liked the taste of pumpkin juice.

"How are you feeling Severus?"

Snape turned his gaze from his House and towards the short wizard to his left, not having expected Flitwick to be the first to speak to him. Pomona was usually the first to try and mother him, but either he had sneered at her too many times, or she was sitting too far to think it was appropriate to ask.

"Evidently, I have seen better days."

"You have impeccable timing," Flitwick continued, having spent enough time with the younger man to be undeterred by his cold demeanour. A response was usually an invitation to continue the conversation. "I'm sure it means a lot to your students to have you return to see them win the House Cup, despite everything. I haven't seen them so happy in a long time."

"As touching as I find your concern for the morale of my students," Severus drawled, "could you use your time instead to ask Silvanus to pass the elf wine for he isn't the only one in need of numbing his latest injuries with copious amounts elf wine."

Professor Kettleburn chuckled, refilling his goblet before passing it down; listening out for centaurs whilst looking for creatures on their plot after being specifically kicked out once or twice had made his hearing rather sharp, even if it had lost him most of his toes. Ignoring the scrutiny of Minerva and McGonagall to his right, Snape drained his goblet in one go before refilling it.

Was he not celebrating, after all? Never mind the fact that he was in excruciating pain. Poppy would nag his ear off when she got her hands on him; he was far from recovered, but he could not have remained there any longer. He had needed to be at the Feast. It was a shame, however, that the Slytherin victory was as hollow as the wine was dry. The consistent décor might have pleased him, but quite frankly he was growing quite tired of playing this particular game.

* * *

_**A/N**__: So yeah, that was first year! This was not the chapter I intended to post a couple of days ago. One complete overhaul (and an additional 3,000 words) later, and I'm much happier with the results. If you don't like it, just think – the first three drafts were even _worse_. And now, onto the dreaded CoS – not going to lie, not a big fan of that year, the fun_ really_ starts in Prisoner of Azkaban. Anyway, hope you like the story so far, and don't hesitate to let me know what you think_.


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Start of Second Year

Chapter Fourteen

Though she knew she shouldn't, Daisy Dursley often wondered why her twin brother had to come in the form of Dudley Dursley, who for all his qualities lacked the patience that she needed him to have at this particular moment in time. His blue eyes were currently wandering over to the television set - which was calling at him to be turned on - when they should have been focused on his sister, waiting for his cue to turn the sheet music.

"Dudley!" Daisy snapped, bringing Dudley's attention to the task at hand. "You missed your turn – again. It's not that hard turning a piece of paper when I nod-"

"Well last time you said you were just moving your head in time with the music! And this time your head didn't even move!" Dudley huffed back. "And it's boring. Why do you have to play something that's complicated and _boring_?"

"_Because_ Dudley, tomorrow-"

"Tomorrow is the day Dad makes the biggest deal of his entire career, yeah, yeah – whatever. Can you just hurry up and be perfect already? I'm tired!"

"We've only been at this for fifteen minutes!"

"Fifteen minutes too long! Don't see why you get the chair and I don't-"

"Because you've gotten too tall to sit with me – we've already been through this –"

Out in the garden, one Harry Potter shook his head as he tended to his aunt Petunia's prized roses, rather surprised that they had not withered in his absence. His cousins bickering carried out through the open windows of number Four, to be replaced moments later by the complicated chords, crescendos and trills of the piece Daisy had spent that past fortnight re-mastering for the very important dinner that had been the topic of Dursley conversation for the past month. He had been her first choice as page turner, having at least three years of experience with the job, but as was Dursley tradition, her parents chose to pretend that he didn't exist when they could get away with it. And much to her continued dismay, stomping her feet was no longer an effective way of getting her way.

As had been drilled into them at the breakfast table for the past week or so, whilst Harry would have absolutely nothing to do with their guests, Daisy and Dudley would play the perfect children, and Petunia would present the image of a perfect mother and wife, and Vernon the epitome of a family man. The perfect façade of complete and utter normality considering that the Dursley's were anything but. Everything had to be perfect, and as her father had snapped before disappearing into his newspaper, she would just have to make do with her brother. If 'the boy' was capable of doing it, there should be no reason for Dudley not to.

"Right," Daisy said, flexing her fingers as the last notes fell silent, "let's run through that again."

"But _why_?" Dudley whined, throwing himself in the armchair, which croaked ominously. "It sounded all right to me. Let's have ice-cream and watch telly."

"Dudley, just focus for me please. Look, when the big hand hits the-"

"I _can_ tell the time, you know!"

"Then you'll know we've not spent nearly enough time on this!"

Dudley pulled a face.

He didn't want to do this, he didn't need the twenty pounds his mother had subtly slipped in his trouser pockets as she ushered him out of the kitchen and into the living room, and if he was perfectly honest, he didn't give a flying monkey about his father's dinner. Up until now he'd had everything he ever wanted without his father getting the promotion, or whatever it was he needed to impress some rich builder and his wife for. He knew that contrary to his sister, he could throw a tantrum and he'd get his way. He might even be able to get them to cut out this stupid piece all together.

"Just half an hour, it's all I ask," Daisy continued, fixing her brother with the biggest eyes that she could muster, pushing herself to the edge of tears. "Half an hour and then I'll let you eat all of the chocolate in the Neapolitan."

"Already ate it," Dudley shrugged, lounging further into the armchair.

"Mum said to share! You're so – _Dudley_!"

"_What_? Shouldn't you just remember it and stuff?"

"I don't have enough time – if I'd known before, but I haven't played and – _please_ Dudley!" Daisy had to catch herself as she felt the tears genuinely threatening to fall as her brother seemed more interested whatever was under his nails. "Dad's counting on me. No, okay, he's giving me this one chance and I can't mess it up and I need your help, okay? I just want…I just want things to be like the way they were before."

"You mean before when you were Mum and Dad's favourite?"

"No! I mean before when Dad didn't hate me. When he spoke to me other than to ask about the dinner, when he wanted to know what's going on at school, when he could just _look_ at me!"

"So you _do_ mean when all we'd hear about was your stupid recitals and stupid exams and how you'd got full marks on your spelling test," Dudley corrected. He sighed, and leant his head on the back of the armchair, closing his eyes and letting the boredom wash over him. "You're a you-know-what now. It doesn't really matter what you do, so I don't see what the point of trying is."

"Because I've always had to try," Daisy mumbled, trailing a finger across the silent keys. "I _always_ have to try. You…you've always been Dad's favourite, his little tyke, his flesh and blood and all I ever wanted was for him to like me as much as he liked you."

"And _you've_ always been Mum's favourite."

"And _you've_ always been her precious Duddikins."

"And _you've_ always been her beautiful Daisy-bear."

"You've always been a true Dursley through and through," Daisy countered, refusing to bow down in this argument.

Dudley had now sat up straighter, racking his brain for the injustices he'd suffered from being in his sister's shadow. "You've always been Uncle Alfie's favourite!"

"And you've always been Aunt Marge's!"

"So? Who the hell wants that?"

"I'd have kinda liked that."

The twins turned to the doorway, not having heard Harry come in from the garden over the sounds of their bickering. He had always moved quietly anyway, always blending into the background, unnoticed until you spotted the mess of jet black hair or he spoke up, which was odd in itself. He had a pensive look on his face, the hand clutching his shoes clenching subconsciously as he continued.

"To be someone's favourite, I mean. To have parents to fight over, to have a brother or sister to fight with, to have an aunt who – I just wish…I wish that sometimes you two could see just how lucky you are."

With that he turned and continued his path upstairs to get cleaned up. His chores finished he could at least work on some homework before Uncle Vernon came back from work. His tolerance for all things magic remained firmly at zero, whilst Aunt Petunia remained ambivalent, oscillating between indifference and headaches.

"What's with him?"

"He's been a little off lately," Daisy shrugged. "He says he's fine but clearly he's not. And his birthday's in a couple of hours – no one should look so gloomy on their birthday. You know he's right don't you? We're really lucky to have Mum and Dad, and he has no one."

Dudley let out another sigh. "You're going to bake him a cake, aren't you?"

"It's only fair. I mean he'd probably be fine with the card and present but…don't you feel bad for him? Not even just a little bit?"

"Why should I?" Dudley asked, his face bearing genuine confusion as to why he was expected to suddenly care for the freak of the family who had dragged his sister into all this you-know-what nonsense and made everything so much more complicated than it had been before. "So he doesn't have family, who cares?"

"But Dudley," Daisy tried reasoning, "_We're_ his family. He's our cousin, just like Amy and Lucas, so we should do something nice. "

"He's not a Dursley so he's not our family, Daisy. Family looks out for one another and he never looked out for you at that place. So I don't care, all right?"

Seeing that there was no point pushing it, Daisy decided to change tactics."Well…since you're my amazing, handsome, super brilliant big brother, will you practise with me for another half an hour?"

"Alright," Dudley conceded, talking longer than he liked to get from sitting to standing. "But ice cream first. I'm hungry." Happy to find the kitchen empty – his Mum was always trying to get him not to ruin his appetite for dinner these days – he set about getting what remained of the Neapolitan. "Do you want any?"

"No thanks," Daisy said, not looking up from the baking recipe book she'd gotten from her mother's recipe shelf. "This looks really good doesn't it? What do you think?" She held out the book to her brother, pointing to a heavily decorated chocolate marble cake with fudge cream. "Mum should have all the ingredients in…"

"Why can't you go for something simple? Do I have to remind you what happened last time you tried to bake a cake?"

"You got to spend several weeks with your favourite aunt. What? I'll be careful. Unless, of course you want to help me…"

By the time he'd finished his bowl of ice-cream, Dudley had found himself roped into an elaborate plan that involved sneaking down after their parents had gone to bed in order to bake one of his grandmother's recipes that his mother kept in the floral recipe book with the yellowing pages, that was not only much easier but much tastier. He didn't mind as much as he complained; being a big brother, or a brother at all, was effort, but it was turning out to be something he wasn't entirely terrible at it. And his parents would probably give him something for trying.

Daisy reached up for a chocolate bar in the back of the sweet cupboard, her jumper riding up as she reached over the counter on her tiptoes to bare usually covered skin, and it was all Dudley could to stop himself from letting out an angry growl, every time he caught sight of it. One of these days, those freaks would pay for what they did to his little sister.

* * *

"Harry. Harry, wake up."

Harry jerked awake, taken a couple of moments to realise that the eyes peering at him through the bars of the bed were blue and not the piercing red that were haunting him of late. He reached for his glasses and blinked owlishly.

"What's going on?" he mumbled, squinting into the dark room, only dark silhouettes distinguishable in the warm hue of the streetlight streaming through the pink curtains.

"Come on. I have a surprise for you."

Even whilst hoping that, for all their sakes, she had not baked him a cake like last year, he felt a bit of a smile creep on his face as he climbed down from the bunk bed. Daisy had made him swap from top bunk to bottom bunk following a birthday shopping trip had her returning with some pink drapes which were now hanging around her bed – apparently she missed the luxury of a four poster and was going to recreate it, albeit in a less-luxurious way. Out in the hallway, there was the distinct smell of baked goods, and the smile on his face broadened. She'd remembered.

Relief was replaced by surprise as Harry entered the kitchen. Relief that it looked just as spotless as usual, albeit for a few things stacked in the drying area, and surprise that Dudley was also there, leaning on the counter, a flour handprint on his dark t-shirt betraying involvement in the baking of the chocolate sponge cake sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, accompanied by a present and a card.

"Happy birthday!"

"Thank you, Daisy," he said, smiling at the excessive amounts of candles decorating his cake once again. "It's great."

"And Dudley," Daisy said, flashing her brother a grin. "He helped. Hope you don't mind."

"Err – thanks Dudley."

"Don't mention it," Dudley said, in a tone that suggested he wished for his words to be taken seriously and for his involvement in the baking never to be mentioned again. He turned to his sister. "Wipe the microwave down when you're done."

"I know, I _know_," Daisy said from where she was battling with heated up chocolate custard, open the door a couple of seconds before it beeped their parents awake. "God Dudley, you're almost as bad as Mum when it comes to the kitchen." She turned to Harry who was watching the pair with an odd look. "Well, what are you waiting for? Can't serve the cake with the candles still in it!"

Grinning sheepishly, Harry took a seat at the kitchen table and with a deep breath blew out the candles as told, making sure to make a wish. He was certain this little tradition wouldn't last, and he wanted to make use of his wishes whilst he was at it. Passing the cake to his cousin, he reached for the wrapped present, perhaps a little neater than it had been last year but still in the wrapping paper that had been used for the twins that year.

"_Hogwarts: A History Revisited by Garius_ – Daisy, is this-?"

"One of the few copies in existence of what was supposed to be the sort of sequel to _Hogwarts: A History_? Aren't I the best cousin in the world?"

"The one that-"

"Took me ages to negotiate but eventually they relented because you're Harry Potter and only the best is good enough for Harry Potter? Of course."

"Yes but-"

"Look, she gave you a present and made us sign your stupid card," Dudley grumbled, placing the knife on the table with more force than was necessary. "So say thank you, eat your cake and stop being so bloody ungrateful."

"Alright, alright. Thank you. It's – it's really thoughtful of you."

It was strange to be sitting in the living room at two in the morning watching _Back To The Future_ with his cousins; after last year's fiasco, Harry hadn't thought Daisy would ever dare venture into baking again, but apparently with her brother's help, she had. And it was really good too. Daisy beamed when he complimented her, flashing a conspiratorial look in her brother's direction. This was weird too, this closeness between the twins.

They shared the sofa whilst he took to the armchair. Before this summer, he'd never seen them share anything without much huffing and puffing from both parties, but here Dudley seemed content to let Daisy tuck her toes under him for warmth, putting her bowl on the coffee table when she passed it to him, growling only when she asked too much questions about time travel instead of just watching the bloody film; time travel wasn't real in any case so she should just shut up. A protective edge had appeared in his movements, and Harry had no idea what it was about.

He should have known things were too good to be true when Dudley gave him twelve friendly birthday bumps later on that day. Straight to the gut.

"That's all you really deserve," Dudley spat, his round features scrunched up in disgust. "Stupid freak – all that magic and you can't even look after my sister."

Harry didn't really have time to word his defence. He was still on the floor trying to breathe through the pain as Dudley walked out of the room and went down to the kitchen for breakfast. He followed a few moments later, when taking breaths no longer hurt. The conversation at the breakfast table was, of course, to do with what the conversation at the breakfast table had been about for the past fortnight.

"-a very important day," Vernon was saying as Harry took a seat. His pointed effort not to look in his nephew's direction spoke of just how little he wanted him there. "This could well be the day I make the single most important deal of my career."

Harry picked at his toast glumly. Dudley had brought him crashing back down to Earth in way that only he could; it was almost like nothing had changed. He was just an outsider intruding in on a family moment. Daisy talked rapidly as she had always done, and the relief when her father responded with more than grunts was uncomfortably palpable. Even Aunt Petunia looked happier than she'd done in a long time, perhaps because it looked like she might have her family back soon, her normal, functioning non-magical member containing family. This time he was brought out of his reverie by a smack to the back of the head.

"Dad was talking to you," Dudley said.

"Oh, right, sorry," Harry mumbled, looking up at his uncle. "What did you say Uncle Vernon?"

"I was asking you, boy," Uncle Vernon said slowly, "if you remembered where you'll be after the Masons have arrived?"

"I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I'm not there."

"Too right you will. The Masons don't know anything about you, and it's going to stay that way. Can't have them asking questions about St. Brutus or anything like that. I swear, if you step one freakish toe out of line…"

Harry couldn't help but gulp even though the sausage speared at the end of Uncle Vernon's fork that was pointed at him wasn't all that menacing. It's was just that Harry had a terrible habit of finding himself in odd, possibly magic-related situations every time his uncle told him not to step a toe out of line; it was as if Uncle Vernon had his own type of magic that allowed him to make good on his threats.

"I'll be good, Uncle Vernon."

He contemplated Harry for a long time before turning to his wife.

"You sure Figgy can't take him for a couple of hours?"

"Tonight's Bingo Night, Vernon," Petunia replied in a tone that was short of an eye-roll as if the habits of neighbours was considered general knowledge. "Arabella would rather give up one of her cats than miss the one night of the month she gets to have any fun with all the other old biddies in Little Whinging."

Vernon didn't seem to believe that old Mrs Figg was still capable of having fun. "And Yvonne? No? No matter, no matter. I have a good feeling about today anyway – everything's prepared. You're going to wow them with your cooking, Dudley with his charm, Daisy with her little tunes and I'm going to top it all off with my business know-how and before you know it, his name will be on that dotted line before the _News at Ten_."

Dudley was looking at his fingers, his mouth moving as he calculated something. "_Two hours_? We have to sit through dinner for two hours?"

"No, honey," Petunia hushed, adding more bacon to his plate. "That's why your father wants it to be over _before_ the News. And those two hours will be worth it once Daddy gets this deal signed."

"Bigger house, bigger car, a holiday home in Majorca – with a pool of course," Vernon nodded. "We'll be set for life. Oxford for my boy and-" He stopped as his eyes fell on Daisy. "Well, I don't know what your lot do after you're finished at that place, but at least no more late nights for me, eh? Only the best for us Dursleys."

He wiped at his mouth with a napkin and pushed away from the table. "Right – I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. You want to come along, tyke?" Dudley shook his head at the idea of an entire day of potential gameplay wasted on helping his father; he already felt like he deserved a medal for how nice he was being to his sister. Vernon turned to Harry. "And you – you stay out of your aunt's way, you hear me? Any nonsense…"

Harry reasoned that this was his uncle's way of wishing him a Happy Birthday. If he took every threat as affection, then he could also reason that Uncle Vernon was a very affectionate man.

"Did you like your cake?" Aunt Petunia questioned as she helped him clear up the table, the rest of the family members having already cleared the kitchen.

"Err- I –" How had she known? "No cake. What cake?"

"I know my Daisy-bear as well as I know my kitchen, and there was cake." Her lips turned upwards into a smile. "I'm glad there was cake. And that it didn't wreck my kitchen this time." She donned her pink gloves emblazoned with '_Best Mum in The World'_ that the twins had given her for Mother's Day two years ago. "The garden bench needs re-doing."

Harry grasped at this dismissal because it was less confusing than trying to understand if his aunt had been trying to wish him a Happy Birthday without having to say it directly to his face. The hasty scribble of her name in the birthday card had been enough. Musical notes emanated from the house again, and he was slightly glad for the distraction of having chores, even if the sun was blazing up ahead. She was glad there was cake? She was glad he was happy? First the scarf and now this?

Harry was still trying to assimilate the possibility of his aunt genuinely caring for him, yawning every couple of brushes, when Daisy appeared with a can of chilled Coke in one hand and a bottle of sunscreen in the other.

"Mum says you'll burn," Daisy said, handing him the Coke and then applying the sunscreen on the exposed parts of his body so he wouldn't end up smearing the dark brown finish over himself. He thanked her and pressed the cool can to his head forehead. "You sure you're alright? You've been really quiet."

"I'm fine - it's just – have you had any letters?"

Daisy looked to the skies as if expecting to see an owl swooping down. "Still no letters? Well Millicent's away, so I figured I wasn't going to get any letters anyway. It's still pretty early – they'll be sure to write."

"Hmm."

Before Daisy could give any more reassurances, Aunt Petunia's voice carried from the house.

"Daisy-bear! Come try these dresses on."

"Duty calls," she said, casting one last glance at her brooding cousin. "Look, if Hedwig keeps refusing to send letters, we'll take her to Diagon Alley - maybe she's ill or something. After this dinner, I bet Dad'll agree to anything." She grinned. "Even a brand new broom."

Leaving Harry to his thoughts, Daisy walked back into the coolness of the house. Her mother was upstairs pulling out dresses from her cupboard and from the unworn depths of shopping bags, draping them over the bunk bed and holding out each one to pass an intense scrutiny. Daisy fingered the material of each, her mother's excited babble about which colours would look best and if colour-coordination was in order washing over her; she couldn't wear any of these.

"I think this one," Daisy said after a while of surveying each dress and settling on a dark blue number, "will look really nice with a white cardigan. The crochet one that I got for the leaving disco. What do you think?"

"I think it's the middle of summer Daisy-bear," was Petunia's patient reply. "Why don't you try them on first? We can make the corridor your catwalk – just like we used to. You used to love modelling these dresses for Mummy."

"I'm not a little kid anymore Mum."

"And models aren't little kids – they're beautiful, tall young women, just like you're growing into."

"I don't want to be a model."

"Oh for Pete's sake, Daisy – they're just dresses. Even wizards wear bloody dresses – and you need to look your best tonight. Here, try this one on. _Now_."

"Fine. _Fine_."

Grabbing the dress, she flounced out of the room, the bathroom door slamming shut as she took to it. Petunia rolled her eyes; she didn't know what had gotten into Daisy over the course of the past year. She'd always loved dresses. A few moments later she reappeared in the pink number, holding her hands up defensively as Petunia's eyes widened.

"Okay, Mum before you -"

Daisy was cut off by her mother grabbing her arms, stretching them out before her to examine the fading signs of Higgs farewell present; Petunia turned them this way and that, her blue eyes wide in disbelief - incomprehension.

"Daisy – what – who hurt my baby? _WHO_?"

"It's nothing Mum, honestly," Daisy tried, "I just fell – a lot. And I didn't tell you because I knew you'd have a massive fit about it-"

"Of course I'd have a '_massive fit_' about it! I told you to tell me if anything like this happened – I specifically told you that we weren't paying good money for you to be miserable and some – some - _thing -_ has been using my daughter as a punching bag!"

"Mum, please-"

Petunia shook her head, refusing to hear any argument that would condone this. How had she missed this? How could Lily not have told her that- "You're not going back to that school."

Daisy cried out in outrage, fists curling and a foot stamping the floor indignantly. "I _knew_ you'd say that – I knew it!"

"I certainly hope you didn't think I was going to be overly thrilled by the idea!" Petunia snapped back at her daughter's churlishness. "_This_ is why you wouldn't let anyone near you at Christmas! Those hideous jumpers and Dudley – you beat up your brother to keep him quiet, didn't you?"

Daisy looked away. "Well, Dudley's not exactly the kind you can beat up...he is quite a bit bigger than me-"

"Your father was right. I should have never let you go to that school."

"No! Mum, don't say that! I love Hogwarts, I do. I've made loads of friends – I even won the House Cup – and _Mum_! I swear, it was just one guy and his stupid friends and he's graduated now so it's nothing and – and I've learnt some really useful spells. I can take care of myself, I promise."

"You shouldn't have to!"

"But I will have to one day!" Daisy insisted, pleading her mother to just understand. "And what's the point of taking me out of school now? What's happened has happened and so it'll have just been a complete waste. Please Mum – _please_."

"Oh Daisy," Petunia sighed, pulling her daughter close, wishing that she did not have to resign herself to fate. "My beautiful, poor little Daisy."

"And besides," Daisy murmured into the folds of her mother's clothes, relishing the familiar warmth of her hold, "it was mostly Harry's fault."

* * *

If Harry questioned why his dinner had returned to pre-Hogwarts letter helpings of two slices of bread and cheese, he didn't say anything. Something odd was going on with the Dursleys; Dudley had renewed his habit of bumping into him very much on purpose with pre-Hogwarts letters zeal, and Aunt Petunia kept throwing narrowed glances in his direction as she hurried around the house in her salmon-pink cocktail dress. It certainly didn't help his already low mood from the lack of communication from people he'd thought were his friends, and he felt disheartened as he trudged upstairs to pretend his inexistence. If Daisy noticed, she was too nervous to care, helping her mother out whenever orders were snapped or otherwise shuffling her music sheet for the umpteenth time.

At eight o'clock sharp the doorbell rang. Dudley stood by the door in his dinner jacket ready to greet Mr and Mrs Mason, Daisy in the living room with her mother, smoothing down the edges of the dress she had suggested earlier, not feeling anywhere near as hot as her mother had said she would feel in a cardigan.

"Ah, Vernon – it's good to see you again," they heard from the entrance hall. "I hope you don't mind. Plans got changed around and we couldn't leave Nicky behind at the hotel all by himself."

They heard Vernon's forced jovial laugh. "No, no, of course not, the more the merrier!"

"May I take your coats Mr and Mrs Mason?" There was Dudley, saccharine falseness coming easy to him. He did, after all, take after his father and Vernon Dursley had not got to where he was with moustache-twitching alone.

"Oh, what a polite boy," came a soft feminine voice that had to be that of Mrs. Mason. "Of course you can."

Daisy's questioning glances were answered when the Masons were led into the living room; it seemed there wasn't just Mr and Mrs Mason tonight but also, from the protective hand on the shoulder and the resemblance, a Master Mason.

"My wife Petunia," Vernon introduced, "and my daughter, Daisy - you've already met Dudley. And this is Francis Mason, his wife Cheryl and his son Nick."

There were the usual introductions, hand shaking and exclamations of how lovely dresses were, Petunia excusing herself to go and check on the food as they all settled down into their seats. They were a very nice family to look at if nothing else. All sporting deep tans and terribly expensive looking clothes, Mr Mason looked like he'd just stepped off the cover of some magazine with his white streaked dark hair and easy smile that dazzled you in the same moment that his light green eyes were sending your heart beating; Mrs Mason was an equally stunning bottle-blonde, and her body-forming red dress kept drawing the Dursley men's attention no matter how much they tried; and Nick, with his perfectly coiffed brown hair and polite smile at the drink he was offered, would certainly be the object of margin scribbles in girls notebooks in any school.

Daisy blushed as he caught her staring, thankful for the change in attention when a noise came from upstairs. All the occupants of the room glanced up as if expecting the source to manifest itself, but Vernon was saved from having to make an excuse by his wife's re-appearance.

"I hope nobody's allergic to anything," she smiled. "It's just a good old fashioned home cooked roast dinner – with all the trimmings of course."

"I'm vegetarian," Nick stated.

"Oh – I –"

"Ignore him," Mr Mason said, leaving it to his wife to cast a warning glance in their son's direction. "He's just going through that phase where he likes to be contrary for the sake of being contrary – even if it's rude. Kids, eh? I'm sure it's delightful, Petunia. May I call you Petunia?"

"Of course."

"Excellent - feel free to call me Francis. I always find it refreshing when you can really get to know the family behind all the business. After all, that's why we're here, right? No point in being a multi-millionaire business mogul if you've got no one to share it with."

"Quite right," Vernon agreed, though it would be hard to imagine a situation where he would disagree with his guest. "It's all about making sure that the roof over our family isn't just any old roof. I'd make it the Sistine Chapel if I could."

"And who's to say you can't?"

"What's the Cistern chapel?" Dudley whispered to his sister as the adults laughed at things he didn't particularly understand. Not that he wasn't trying. "And what's a vegetarian?"

"I don't know," Daisy whispered back, though loath to admit that some elements of 'adult conversation' still escaped her. "And a vegetarian is a person who doesn't eat any meat."

"What? Even chicken?"

"Yes, Dudley. Even chicken."

"What about fish?"

"I think that's still meat."

"Weird."

Daisy was about to agree when another sound from upstairs drew their attention. Harry wasn't doing a very good job of pretending he didn't exist. Luckily quarter past eight signalled the time to move into the dining room for dinner and the Masons seemed to be the kind of people who didn't make unnecessary comments about something that their hosts were clearly trying to pretend wasn't happening. The Mason family took one side of the table and the Dursley's the other, with Vernon at his usual seat at the head of the table.

"Mmm, this is simply wonderful," Mrs Mason cooed as they took to the starter. "I just adore the dressing. Usually I'm not too fond of avocado's – a bit of an unusual choice, but this – delicious."

Dudley who was not fond of anything green unless it came in the form of artificial flavouring and colouring did not share in this assessment. Instead he looked across at the Mason son who was happily eating his own avocado without fuss and perfect table manners.

"Do vegetarians only eat vegetables then?" Dudley asked.

"No, they eat all sorts of things," Nick replied. "Humans aren't meant to be omnivores, you know that? Our entire digestive system – and our teeth, for that matter – bring us closer to herbivores. If people only realised that, we'd erase world hunger in a matter of years. How does it make sense to grow plants to feed the animals to feed the people when we could just grow lots of plants and feed all the people?"

"But – but bacon tastes good."

"I imagine a lot of things taste good to you. There are starving kids in Africa, you know, all because _you'd_ rather eat bacon than a few vegetables."

Dudley looked stumped at the accusation that _his_ choice of breakfast foods was the reason for all those sad adverts on the telly always asking for money to send to sad looking children surrounded by flies in far away countries. He was rather sure that he wasn't the only person in the world who enjoyed bacon.

"Nicky, please," Mrs Mason chided, saving Dudley from having to reply. "I am sorry about him. He takes some of the opinion sections in newspapers a little too serious. Even though he had Spaghetti Bolognese just last night."

"Daddy has told me _all_ about you, Mr Mason," Daisy said, thinking now was probably a good time to deliver that compliment that they were each to attempt to direct at the guests. "His opinion is something I'd definitely take seriously, and the one he has of you is very high, sir. And of course, I was excited to meet the man featured in the _Mail on Sunday_ – you're the best of the best in the British construction industry. That's pretty amazing."

Mr Mason beamed. "You saw that did you?"

"Daisy loves to read," Vernon added, pleased with the pleased look on his guest's face. "I've always encouraged it at home - you never know what they teach kids at school nowadays."

"It is so very hard to find a decent boarding school these days," Mrs Mason concurred. "We're currently on the lookout for a new school for Nicky. The last one just wasn't suitable at all. And Eton is simply overrated."

"Have you heard of Smelting's? Fine school, fine school. I went there myself and Dudley's there now. Good place to build character. Tell Mrs Mason about Smelting's, Dudley."

"Oh, it's great," Dudley said, absentmindedly mashing up his avocado as he exalted the greatness of a school that Daisy knew he wasn't particularly fond of. "There's a really – you never get bored at Smelting's, always something to do, to learn. The teachers just let you get on with things, and there's a strong err – you feel like you've got brothers instead of friends. Lot of traditions, and the rugby team's not half bad either."

"Sounds like any other boarding school to me," Nick said. He looked up to the ceiling as there was a repeated thumping. "Do you have a dog or something?"

"Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!" Vernon said quickly, ignoring the mortified look his son sent him to be referred to as 'little tyke' in front of another boy who already thought he was a murderer. "I'll just be a moment."

Daisy suddenly felt very hot in her jumper as the Masons turned their attention to the remaining Dursleys at the table. She got the feeling that they were being scrutinised for some sort of test they had to pass if the dotted line was going to be signed.

"What is it you do Mrs Mason?" Daisy asked.

"I'm an Interior Designer," she answered. "That's how I met Francis actually – we were working on the same project and one thing led to another and I woke up happily married! It's not easy, of course, being a working mother. Sometimes I think of giving it all up to look after my little Nicky."

"And you said _I_ was embarrassing you," Nick murmured, moving away from his mother's mothering touches. "I'm not a child, Mother."

"Of course, not dear. And what do you do Petunia?" Mrs Mason asked when Petunia returned to the dining room shortly after her husband's return. "I can't imagine what it's like to juggle twins with a career!"

"I chose to stay at home and raise the children myself, actually," Petunia said delicately. She wanted to add on that raising three kids of the same age and looking after a husband left little room for much else but refrained herself. "It's been very rewarding watching them grow up."

"But surely now they're finally off to school you can pick up right where you left off, or even start something completely different. Something fun and exciting. Oh, I know! You should go into catering, open your own restaurant even – everything so far has been absolutely delicious – I would _pay_ for this. I'm sure Vernon will be able to spare a little pocket money once this deal goes through."

"Now, now, Cheryl," Mr Mason chided softly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Women, eh, Vernon? Make plans first, ask questions later and then wonder why our wallets are suddenly empty?"

Everyone – even the so-called vegetarian – was soon tucking into the delicious meal before them. Conversation was light, the joke about the Japanese golfer well received and countered with one about the Jew and the Sheikh by Mr Mason who seemed to be on a scarily similar wave-length to his host. Mrs Mason was about to inquire about the recipe when she, Petunia, Daisy and Dudley (to his horror) let out a scream at the heart-stopping crash that came from the kitchen.

Daisy wasn't sure who was in greater shock; Harry, who stood in the middle of the kitchen covered head to foot in what previously had been a beautiful cream and sugared violets pudding, or her parents - her father was beginning to colour as he gaped at the boy who was supposed to not be existing, and her mother at the destroyed masterpiece.

"Oh Harry!" Daisy exclaimed, grabbing a tea towel as she manoeuvred towards her cousin, her voice gently scolding. "Mum told you that could have some afterwards, didn't she? Or were you scared by all the strange voices?" Harry stood there silently, not exactly sure what she expected him to do. She turned to where the Masons were hovering in the doorway looking on at the scene . "This is Harry. He's…_special_. He can get really antsy when there are other people in the house."

"Yes – he's very disturbed," Vernon added as he recovered. "Meeting strangers upsets him so we thought he might be better upstairs with the television on – must be having one of his funny turns – our nephew you see –"

"Mum and Dad took him in when we were little," Daisy continued as she wiped at Harry's face dutifully. "His parents died in a car crash and there was no one else to take him in. It's not always easy, as you can tell, but Mum and Dad have always managed. Don't worry, I'll get him cleaned up if you like."

"Petunia – why didn't you say? Twins _and_ a special needs case?" Mrs Mason could be heard saying as she and Nick were guided back into the dining room. "It's such a shame about the dessert – what was it going to be?"

"You should have said, Vernon," Mr Mason said gravely, casting one final glance at the dark haired boy who had not moved an inch. "We'd have understood – I wasn't going to judge you for being a decent man. Any other person would have had him locked up in some sort of institution."

"Well, you know," Vernon said, "charity starts at home. Speaking of charity, are you aware of the sizeable donations Grunnings, Inc. has made in the past couple of years? We're always looking for fellow Samaritans…"

Daisy waited until the door was firmly closed before rounding on her cousin.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" she hissed, smacking him in the face with the cream-sodden tea towel. "This is the most important day of Dad's career and what do you do? And Mum, she spent _ages_ on that! And you just decided to smash it to pieces in the middle of dinner? You're such an _idiot_!"

"It wasn't my fault," Harry tried explaining as Daisy shoved open the back door, letting some cool air into the kitchen. She was boiling. "There was a house elf – Dobby he said his name was – and he's trying to stop me from going back to Hogwarts! He's been stopping our letters so we'd think we weren't liked – _he's_ the one that attacked Hedwig! And then he came down here and smashed the dessert. There was no way I could have stopped him."

"What _are_ you on about? A _house elf_?"

"Creature with big eyes that serves magical family from what I gathered."

"I know what a house elf _is_ I just want to know what it was doing here! Today of all days!" Daisy gasped as a huge barn owl almost took off her head as it swooped in through the open garden door, dropped a letter it on Harry's head and swooped out again. "Well, what does it say?"

"It's addressed to us…from the Ministry – the Improper Use of Magic Office," Harry said, scanning the letter. "Says that there was a Hover Charm performed – that we've broken rules and any more magic will result in expulsion. You know what Daisy? I think that elf was trying to get me expelled."

"Who cares about being expelled? Dad's going to _kill you_ if this deal doesn't go through. And I'm probably going to end up homeless because of you. I hate you so much right now, Potter."

"You can't hate me," Harry smirked, despite feeling very much like he might throw up at the thought of his imminent death. "I'm _special_ after all."

The moment was interrupted by Petunia bustling in, balancing several plates on her arm and managing to manoeuvre through the cream in her heels without slipping to the counter. Her lips were nothing more than a thin coral line and the cousins quickly wiped any signs of finding this situation anywhere close to amusing from their faces.

"Daisy – it's going to be time for your piece soon," she said tightly, digging out alternative forms of dessert and setting the coffee machine on. She reached for the mop and shoved it at Harry. "Spotless. I want this place spotless. You ungrateful little – _now_."

"I'm sorry Aunt Petunia," Harry tried, keeping his head bowed.

She ignored him. "Come along Daisy. We'll open up the dining room window as well if you're hot."

Wiping her feet on the newspaper put down to stop them dragging anymore cream into the carpets, Daisy followed her mother without another glance at her cousin. It was hard to be sympathetic for him – even if it was apparently a house elf's fault. Weren't house elves bound to listen to wizards? Who would send a house elf to Privet Drive to have them expelled? Though some answers were beginning to take a vague form, any further thought would have to wait. There was still a dinner needing to be salvaged.

"Is he alright now?" Nick asked as Daisy took her seat.

"Yeah, he's fine," she answered, the lies rolling easily off her tongue. "He's doing a bit of mopping now. He likes doing things like that – keeps him busy and out of trouble. It's a shame about Mum's dessert actually. I think you'd have liked it."

"Nothing wrong with a bit of vanilla ice cream though," Mr Mason reassured in turn making a great show of savouring his spoonful. "After the wonderful starters and dinner, I think I'd have felt a little spoilt. Nobody's perfect."

"Well, except for us, of course," Mrs Mason laughed, squeezing her husband's hand. "But really, this has been absolutely wonderful."

"Would you like some coffee Cheryl?" Petunia offered once they'd all had their full of dessert. "We can adjourn to the lounge with the children and let the men get on – we know you two have been dying to talk drills all evening."

Daisy caught her brother glancing at the clock in the living room. A quarter to ten. If this dinner went on any longer, Harry would have Dudley to contend with as well, who, despite his best attempts not to show it, was already bored out of his skull and not particularly enthused to be in the company of this Nick Mason. Dudley had the distinct impression that the other boy was looking down at him.

"So, how old are you?" Nick asked as they sat in one corner of the living room whilst their mothers took up another, nattering about fabrics or whatever it is mothers went on about.

"Twelve," Dudley answered.

"And you?"

"We're the same age," Daisy replied. "We're twins."

"Really? You don't look alike – well, you do if you squint I suppose. Has anyone ever asked you if you were supposed to be triplets?" He smirked at whatever joke he was making that was lost on the Dursley children. He turned his gaze to Daisy. "You're the better twin then – the smarter one, always knows what to say, takes care of the family special needs case. Even if you do read the _Daily Mail_ – load of rubbish."

"I read _The Times_ actually, but they didn't write anything about your father. How old are you then, Mr I Know Everything?"

"Age is but a number, and the older you get the more you forget, right?"

"I heard you get wiser with age," Dudley countered.

"Wider in your case. I'm only joking, little tyke - don't look so upset. You can have more ice cream later to cheer you up." His straight-toothed grin did not quell the desire building up in Dudley's stomach to punch every single one out of his mouth. Nick turned to Daisy. "I'm guessing you're the one that plays the piano then, Better Twin?"

Daisy narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, why?"

"Play me something."

"I was going to wait until your father was finished."

"He can hear it from the dining room, can't he? Come on. I'm bored, let's play."

Daisy exchanged looks with her brother. This boy was a nightmare. Had he been any other boy, between the two of them they might have managed to knock him down a peg or two but this wasn't Lucas; as it stood, _his_ father was the only thing between _their_ father's success or failure. Daisy had a fleeting thought that she'd been transported into a dimension where Muggle Slytherins roamed the Earth, and their father's wealth and name placed them on an unreachable pedestal that you longed to knock down.

"What grade are you?" he asked as Daisy shuffled around her sheet music for the twenty-ninth time that evening, uncomfortable with his decision to sit next to her, hairs on the back of her neck standing up under the scrutiny.

"Five."

"Rather average. Oh well, it shall have to do. Ready to start?"

Flexing her fingers, she wondered if Dudley was the one channelling her urge to strike the Mason boy in the nose. This was for Dad, she told herself over and over again. She needed him to see her as his little girl again, she needed him to give her the world like he'd always promised – even if she was a witch. So with a deep breath, she started playing. She could feel Nick's gaze on her as she tried not to stumble over the notes, growing hot in her cardigan again and all the while trying to keep calm when she did stumble and confuse some notes. She was surprised when he turned the page without sign from her, and even more when he completed the scale she was working up to.

Taken by surprise, she faltered, but he carried on playing, long tanned fingers flawlessly commandeering the keys in the silence of her playing. She turned the page but he didn't even seem to be looking in that direction. He was looking at her expectantly, and she picked up the piece again, hesitantly at first, not sure where her hands fit into his playing but he made room for her, and even if he was a bit of a twat, he certainly knew what he was doing. Show off.

"Bravo! Bravo!" Daisy turned to see her father beaming and clapping enthusiastically as the last notes rang, joined by more polite applause from everyone else. "I always encouraged her playing I did. And your son – excellent, excellent!"

"You should practise more," Nick said blandly, folding away the sheet music. "But I like you. I think I should like to marry you one day." If Daisy had been drinking something she would have spat it out right then and there without any shame. He turned to face his audience. "That is if you don't mind, Mr and Mrs Dursley."

"Do we mind?" Vernon laughed, hysterical high notes working into his chuckle. "Do we _mind_?"

"I think what Vernon is trying to say," Petunia smiled, giving the boy next to her daughter a curious look, "is that whatever the circumstances, we look forward to the Masons and the Dursleys spending more time together in the future."

"And to think I only came here to make a business deal and here I am looking at a potential business partner and a potential family!" Mr Mason laughed, patting Vernon on the back. "Shall we wrap this up before Little Nicky decides the wedding date?"

"I am sorry about him," Mrs Mason apologised once more. "Tends to speak before he thinks, which is surprising given how smart he is." She lowered her voice, and leaned towards Petunia. "I wouldn't worry about it lasting. Nick always makes a scene and then he gets bored. _But_ I can't deny it's really refreshing to meet such honest people. Usually you get the wife trying to seduce François, and the husband with the wandering hands and the kids are all little stuck up brats – and some people even rent houses just to pretend they're wealthier than they are in a bid to impress us. Can you _imagine_?"

Petunia forced out another smile. "How horrible that must all be for you. Can I offer you another coffee?"

If there was ever a time for coffee, this was it. With a shot of Irish whiskey, of course.

* * *

_**A/N**: And so here it is - the start of CoS, a lot later than expected, but here nonetheless. 'Ohmegoood, what is this new character? What is this tripe?' I hear you say, because I've said and I wrote it. Most of the delay was me wondering if this was actually going somewhere other than a future plothole, and the good news is - it is! If nothing else, I tried to be original. The Mason dinner _actually_ going well? Don't get that too often. Besides, I have such little love for CoS that I just couldn't help myself from doing the Fanfiction equivalent of scribbling all over it_.

_Thank you for all the feedback so far, for reading this far, and hope y'all continue to join me through what promises to be an…_interesting_ interpretation of their second year at Hogwarts.  
_


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

"Good morning my little princess – how are we this fine morning?"

Daisy had long concluded that her father was a strange man. You didn't want to be around him when he was in a bad mood and you didn't know what to do with yourself when he all but skipped into the kitchen with a massive smile on his face and placed an even bigger kiss on your forehead after almost a year of pretending, for the most part, that you didn't exist - or_, _at his _nicest_, that you weren't related.

Three days had passed since her father concluded the biggest business deal of his entire life and she still wasn't used to the return of full on affection from her father, not that she thought he'd ever been quite as attentive to her before. Daisy tried not think of what life would be like if it had gone the other way; that's to say if the Masons had decided they wanted nothing to do with the crazy nephew harbouring Dursleys. She was willing to bet that it wouldn't be a mere case of her father refusing to acknowledge her continued existence in any shape or form but rather herself and Harry finding themselves left outside of the furthest orphanage that her father was willing to spend petrol money on getting them to. Instead, she smiled back at her father' grin and his acceptance of the orange juice she passed without so much as a second look to check for magical tampering.

"Are you going into the office today?" Petunia asked, buttering her husband his usual slices of toast with extra helpings of marmalade.

"I'm headed there now. No eggs for me thank you, got to keep my appetite. They're having a special brunch in my honour. And if they aren't, I'll make sure they do!" He chuckled happily to himself, taking a large bite out of his toast, staring dreamily into the distance. "You know, I never thought it, Pet. This time last week I was just hoping for the deal to come through, but _now_! Now we're not just set for life, we're set for…_generations_! Our great-great-great grandchildren will look back at Dursley history and realise that this was the pivotal moment of its course!"

"That's lovely dear."

"The Mason-Dursley Construction Empire," Vernon continued, loving the way the name rolled off his tongue. "A business also anchored in love. Aren't you excited Petunia? We're the future parents-in-law of Nick _Mason_, of the illustrious Mason family. _Our_ Daisy..."

"He was only joking, Vernon," his wife countered, sipping her coffee to avoid him seeing the sour look that had appeared on her face at the mention of it. "Or he's extremely delusional. One of the two. He's a vegetarian who eats meat, he said he was allergic to his last school and was quite frankly rather rude."

"Come now, darling. Entire empires were built on successful alliances, and this is one of them. You have to dream big, take risks-"

"Marry your children off as if we were in the eighteenth century?" Petunia snapped, placing her cup down with more emphasis than originally intended. "She is not a clause in one of your business contracts, and don't you forget it, Vernon."

"Of course she isn't. You liked Nick, didn't you pumpkin?"

Daisy eyes widened, caught out with spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth. "I – err – well-"

"I don't like him," Dudley offered, as he had done for the past three days when the topic was brought up. "I don't like him at all. He's a stupid vegetarian, and I don't want to go to Smelting's with him. If he goes, then I'm going to Stonewall with Piers!"

"Nonsense, Dudley," Vernon hushed, "you two will be the best of friends."

"I don't want to be friends with _him_!"

"Son, there comes a time in a man's life when-"

"No! I said no! You can't make me!" Dudley stood up suddenly, the chair scraping loudly on the floor, pushing his half eaten plate away dramatically. "I'm not hungry anymore."

They watched him storm out of the kitchen, and moments later his bedroom door slammed shut.

"Congratulations Vernon," Petunia deadpanned, flashing an icy look towards her husband. "I don't think I've heard Dudley say he wasn't hungry since he was eight – and that was because Daisy had just thrown up into his food."

"Why is it so difficult for you to be happy for me?" Vernon demanded, his latest semi-permanent smile wavering. "Are you still upset about that dessert? Because you only ever get like this when something's gone wrong with your kitchen, and I don't see why you have to ruin my good mood because of some stupid serving dish!"

"It was part of our wedding set!"

"With what I'm going to be making, we can buy the Queen's wedding set!"

"I don't want the Queen's wedding set! I want what is best for our children, and this-"

"-is it," he insisted, wiping at his mouth, and leaving the table. "I'll probably be home late tonight, don't wait up." He fished for his wallet and placed a credit card in front of Petunia. "Treat yourself. I want my two-" He kissed his wife's cheek, and then the top of Daisy's head. "-favourite girls in the whole wide world to be happy."

Daisy thought of thanking him, but the thought evaporated as she caught the look on her mother's face; livid did not even begin to cover it. So she continued eating her breakfast in silence, wishing there was someone else at the table with her to diffuse the tension that remained in the air even when the sounds of her father's car had long faded away. Dudley was no doubt killing something on his video game and Harry preferred skipping out on meals with the family for the moment, at least until it looked like his aunt and uncle might begin to forgive him for almost ruining the Mason dinner. Daisy was beginning to wonder, however, if her mother wasn't angry at him for _not_ ruining the meal, because as happy as her father was, her mother seemed extremely unhappy with the whole situation.

"Mum?"

"Mhmm?"

"Do you think," Daisy asked slowly, playing with the edge of the tablecloth as pronounced each word with as much wheedling sweetness she could muster, "we could, just maybe, use the money to get me a broom?"

"Do you think that 'just maybe' you could learn to take no for an answer?" her mother asked, one perfectly arched eyebrow rising in annoyance. "And after your grades this year, I don't really think you're in a position to be asking anything."

Daisy pouted. "It's…it's more complicated than you think."

"All the more reason for you to go to a normal school, where you won't rank bottom in your year. I never thought I'd see the day when Dudley actually tried harder than you did."

"I did try!" Daisy insisted. "It's just you don't _understand_!"

"Then perhaps you'd care to enlighten me."

_Ding dong_.

"This conversation," Petunia warned as she caught her daughter's light slump of relief, "isn't over."

Left in the kitchen, Daisy thumped her head on the table, accompanying it with a frustrated growl. This was _not_ how things were supposed to go. The plan had been to purposely achieve average grades in all her exams in order to ensure that the Noble Housers ranked above her and therefore did not try and kill her for it; she hadn't counted on her mother actually being disappointed in her. Though perhaps going from top of her class at Stonewall Primary to 28th in her year at Hogwarts had been too much even for as lenient a mother as Daisy's to process. And _then_ there was the whole keeping silent about the whole bullying thing which was apparently grounds for revoking the earlier promise of a broom. That, combined with the grades, the Potions classroom incident _and_ the general premise of it being unnatural for humans to fly on a broom was becoming an increasingly solid case for her not getting a racing broom this year.

"_Harry_! Harry Potter, you get down here this instant!"

Too busy pondering over her self-made conundrum, Daisy hadn't been listening to who it was at the door. She'd assumed it was the postman or a neighbour or worse – Piers Polkiss. Who could possibly want to see Harry? She was surprised, as her mother probably had been, to see the three sets of flaming red heads now standing in their entrance hall; Ron Weasley stood nervously in between his two elder twin brothers, Fred and George if she wasn't mistaken, who seemed perfectly at ease despite her mother's cold looks.

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed as he jumped down the last few steps at the sight of his friends, hair still wet from his shower. "Fred, George – what are you guys doing here?"

"That's a very good question," Petunia said, narrowing his eyes at Harry. "Who exactly have you been given our address to?"

"Oh, he didn't give us his address," one of the twins said. "Ma'am."

"We looked in one of those yellow books with all the Muggle names, and looked for Dursley," the other completed. "Ended up in Swindon first, where we met your brother-in-law."

"Good old Alfie – gave us a cup of tea and then sent us on our way."

"He did think we were about to rob him though after we said we were friends of Harry's."

"Can't imagine why."

"We'd not heard back from Harry in a while," Ron added as he caught the increasingly unpleasant look on Mrs Dursley's face. "So we thought we'd come ask you personally if it'd be alright to have him come over and stay with us for the rest of the holiday."

"You looked up our family name in a phonebook and decided to go to each house asking if there was a Harry Potter on the hopes that if you did find him we would just allow him to leave, just like that?" Petunia demanded. "Without a single thought that I might want to meet your parents, or that he might have gotten himself in big enough trouble to render him undeserving of spending his summer enjoying himself?"

Ron tinged pink under the interrogation. "Well, accidental magic happens all the –"

"What our little brother means to say," one of the twins interrupted before Ron could put his foot in it, "is that we wrote plenty of times, but we got no reply. So our parents are aware of our intentions to have Harry come stay over this summer."

"We would _never_ leave the house without telling them first."

"We're responsible."

"And as long as we don't run into please-men, perfectly legal to drive."

"Can I go Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked, employing a voice very similar to the one that Daisy had just used, but sounded very odd coming from the boy who usually asked for nothing, despite wanting for many things. "Please?"

"How long would you be able to keep him?" Petunia asked turning back to the Weasleys, mulling over the request.

"Until the start of term I guess," Ron answered carefully.

"Your guess is not a definite answer, young man. And you have dirt on your nose."

It was once again a twin who saved the situation."Yes, yes we could – Ma'am."

"We'd get him on the Hogwarts Express and everything," the other confirmed.

Eyeing them up suspiciously, Petunia relented nonetheless. "Then I suppose you should hurry and get packed up."

Harry gaped. "R-really?"

"I don't believe I stuttered. Take your little friends with you; you have half an hour. Oh, and boys, if I find any harm has come to my brother, or anything is missing from this house, you will not only have me to deal with me but my husband. And you don't want that, do you?"

"No, ma'am."

Daisy followed her mother back into the kitchen in disbelief as the Gryffindors walked up the stairs, their excited conversation carrying throughout the house.

"You're letting him go have fun with his friends whilst I don't even get a broom?" Daisy demanded. "May I remind you that he – _he_ broke your serving dish! He almost ruined the entire dinner! And all he has to do is say please? It's not _fair_!"

"Daisy, Mummy has the biggest headache right now, and I need to call your Uncle Alfred to check if he's still alive, so _please_-"

"Of course he's still alive. They're Gryffindors, not hardened criminals!"

"Clearly you've not met enough Gryffindors," Petunia mumbled as she rubbed her temples, contemplating if she could get allergy shots for wizards. "Can you make Mummy a cup of tea please?" Daisy opened her mouth to complain further but Petunia held up a silencing hand, gesturing to the receiver in her hand. "Hello? Hello, Alfred – it's me Petunia. I'm fine thank you. And yourself? Yes, those boys did get to me safely… well, I wouldn't use the term lovely…"

Making as much noise as possible, Daisy did as she was told, glaring at the kettle as it slowly but surely boiled. Was the Boy-Who-Lived really getting away with murder in her own home? Well – technically it was his home as well but that was entirely beside the point.

"Daisy!"

"_What_?"

"Go check what those boys are doing!" her mother stage whispered, pointing upstairs where there was indeed some sort of commotion going on.

With a sigh Daisy left, taking two steps at a time, ready to unleash her frustration on noisy Gryffindors. What she didn't expect to see was to find her brother pinning Ron to the wall, Fred and George with their wands at the ready.

"You think it's funny to hurt my sister, do you?" Dudley pushed his forearm further into Ron's jugular. "Do you?"

"Geroff me!" Ron snapped clawing at Dudley's arm. "I didn't do anything to your stupid sister!"

Daisy's eyes widened as she realised what was going on. "For goodness' sake - Dudley, get off of him! He's never hurt me! He's one of Harry's friends – those poor kids I was telling you about."

Dudley's hold loosened a little. "There's even more gingers?"

"Yes, and they're all very nice people," Daisy said, pulling a reluctant Dudley away from Ron who had gone pink from an effort to breathe. She turned to Fred and George. "What were you planning on doing with those wands anyway? Breaking the school rules not enough for you?"

"No, it's plenty enough," one of the twins replied, "We'll leave the hardcore rule-breaking up to you and Harry – heard from Dad you two have been up to no good with your magic."

The other nodded. "Quite understandable with this one as a brother, George – I'd probably hex him as well."

"You might want to apologise for almost killing our baby brother though," George said, prodding Dudley with his wand. "It's not a very nice way to treat guests."

"And the way you freaks have been treating my sister," Dudley growled, "I should rip each and every one of you to shreds!"

Daisy stepped in front of her brother as he made to grab George's wand. "Dudley, just leave it!"

"Fine! Whatever! You're so perfect, you sort it out yourself – or maybe you can get _Nick_ to help you out since you two are so close now!"

Daisy sighed as her brother stomped into his room, once more slamming the door firmly behind him. Within moments there was the roar of the television and shooting sounds made it clear he was taking his frustrations out on some unfortunate zombies.

"Daisy," Harry said from the doorway, where he'd been watching the scene, some of his clothes bundled up in his hands, "What's Dudley talking about?"

"Nothing," Daisy shrugged, not really meeting his eyes. "He's just upset - from this morning. We had a fight. You should hurry up and finish packing. When Mum says half an hour, she means half an hour."

"_That_ wasn't nothing," Ron said, rubbing his neck gingerly. "_That_ was proper mental. Did you not see that? He could have killed me!"

"Oh for god's sake, he barely touched you."

"That's what you call _barely touching_?" He pulled at his collar so she could see the reddening patch of skin amongst the freckles. "I'm with Harry on this one. What in Hades was that about?"

"Nothing!"

"You know what George? I think the rumours we heard about our ickle Snake here were true," Fred said, peering at Daisy curiously. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Blinding your own Seeker was a little foolish," George agreed, a similar look on his face.

"I didn't blind him!" Daisy snapped. She hadn't thought anyone outside of Slytherin knew what went on within the dungeons. "I just-"

"Daisy?" came her mother's voice from the foot of the stairs. "Everything alright up there?"

"We're fine, Mum! Just looking for a few things!" Daisy called back, ushering the boys into the room. She ignored the eyebrow Ron raised at the pink drapes she'd placed around her bunk bed. Harry's look told him not ask. "The truth is I had a bit of trouble last year with some older years who don't take kindly to Muggleborns or Harry beating them at Quidditch, alright? That. Is. All."

Harry frowned. "Dudley's angry because they turned your hair green?"

"And pushed me down the stairs a couple of times, but that is all and it's all sorted now."

Fred was now frowning too. "If the rumours are true, and that miniature Muggle minotaur out there you call a brother knows then…then I'd be livid too ickle Snake."

"But they're _not_, are they?" Daisy insisted.

"What rumours?" Harry asked, looking from Fred to Daisy to George and back again, searching for some sort of answer. "Daisy? _What_ is going on?"

"Why aren't you packing, Mr Potter?" George said, suddenly grabbing the clothes Harry was still holding and throwing them into the open trunk. "Time's pressing - we're on a bit of a schedule back at home as well. Dad's going to realise we've got the car any minute now."

"And Mum's going to realise we've not just popped into town for some milk," Fred added, allowing the soon-to-be second year Slytherin to win this particular round, her shoulder dropping in clear relief.

"We should probably get some milk, try and make it more authentic – 'Look who we found at the grocer's Mum! Harry!'"

"I reckon she might buy it."

"After she's killed us."

Daisy was relieved that they'd let the matter drop, and happily waved them off at the door as they loaded Harry's things into the blue Ford Anglia they were apparently allowed to drive, Ron still rubbing his neck every now and then; he'd probably have some story to tell one day about the crazy Muggle that attacked him. Harry didn't look quite as happy to let it go, giving her a long look as he drew out of their hug, but he knew better than to bring it up before Aunt Petunia who was watching the exit proceedings with a hawk eye (and equally sharp ears), and then they were gone.

"I can see what Alfred saw in them," said as she closed the front door. "He and your late Uncle Thomas were apparently doing exactly the same thing at their age. Believe it or not, Daisy, your father is the sensible brother."

* * *

Though Daisy might occasionally feel guilty for thinking it, life at Privet Drive without the presence of one Harry Potter was significantly better.

They could decide that they wanted to go to the beach for the day and they would find themselves on a train, Dudley nodding off because it was much too early for his liking, Petunia getting on with her winter knitting and Daisy buried in a book, occasionally looking up to watch the passing scenery. There was no booking their holidays around Mrs. Figg's bingo nights, fighting against Marge's reluctance to have anything to do with that which had come from her sister-in-law's half of the family or dealing with Petunia's tendency not to trust any of her female friends enough to leave Harry with him in case they thought he was too skinny or he did accidental…_you know_, and she had to find a convincing story to cover it up. Not this summer. Safe in the knowledge that he was somewhere with his little friends that he had mentioned once or twice, and therefore not about to burn the house down or run amok, trips to the park, amusement parks and the County Fair with Uncle Alfred were relaxing affairs.

Though no one would ever admit it, it was also significantly helped that for the past fortnight or so, Vernon Dursley had hardly been seen at Privet Drive. Though his promotion did mean that he no longer had to put in long hours to get a fraction of the money he'd be earning now, if he wanted to keep the position or go even further, he couldn't stop working hard. Now on the Board of Directors, he finally found himself with privileges that he had only previously dreamed of. Between the board meetings, he had to find himself one of those personal assistants, redecorate his new office, choose a new company car more fitting to his status, stock his liquor cabinet, sign up to the Health Club so he could accidentally run into the relevant people, figure out the right order in which to invite his fellow Directors to dinner and decide whether or not it was time to say goodbye to 4 Privet Drive and move to somewhere bigger, better and more fitting to his means. And that wasn't even mentioning the hours he was now spending in the company of Francis Mason discussing the prospects of an independent business venture that was just short of violating his Grunnings contract but also short of making him a millionaire within the year. So it was usually late when he finally kicked off his shoes at the door, swung his suit jacket on the armchair, waved a hello at the twins and collapsed onto the bed exhausted, a smile on his face.

"We're going to France," Vernon announced one morning. "The Masons invited us – they have a holiday home there, and it'll be a perfect place to finalise some elements of our contract. That and we can easily look at holiday homes from there."

The response he received was certainly not the one he'd expected.

Dudley objected on the mere principle that it had anything to do with the Masons. Unless Nick had died in a pool of his own slime, he wanted nothing to do with him. And besides, he refused to even set foot in a country where the only food they ate was frog's legs and baguettes. Daisy found herself agreeing with her brother; what was wrong with staying in England? Her protests had nothing to do, as her mother's narrowed gaze suggested, with the fact that her booklist was due to arrive any day soon and she did not wish to be out of the country come time to visit Diagon Alley. Besides, she'd promised Dudley she'd convince Mum to take him this time – he didn't believe half the things she told him about her world. And Petunia…well, her children always came first.

Not that their protests mattered much.

Two days later, they found themselves on the way to the airport in a chauffeured car. The arrival of the sleek black car had been a small event in itself, Vernon not once complaining about Petunia's neurotic need to check that every appliance in the house was unplugged and no danger of the oven being left on (Mrs Figg would come to check that the fridge hadn't set on fire) because it meant that the residents of Privet Drive had more time to be jealous as they waited for her.

And the tension once inside, Vernon reasoned, was a small price to pay for the luxury they found themselves in. He smiled to himself as he caught Petunia stroking the leather interior appreciatively, and the twins had more than enough buttons to press before the driver kindly asked them to stop.

Once at the airport, they were led past the queues of the regular holiday makers dealing with delays and baggage check in, up the escalator beyond the red velvet rope, where the burly security guard politely allowed them into another world. Daisy couldn't help but marvel, almost open-mouthed, even if she was still supposed to be in joint mutiny against her father. Their family had never been poor but this…this was being _rich_?

"Petunia! So good to see you again," Mr Mason greeted, extracting himself from the very cushy looking seats he had previously been lounged in, one of those salmon-coloured newspapers open before him, accompanied by a coffee in those ridiculously small cups. "And Daisy - and Dudley of course. Your father speaks so much about you, it's like I already know you."

Apparently, being rich also meant spending time with people that you hated. Daisy plastered on her best smile as she mirrored her mother and greeted the Masons with a touch of the cheek – even Nick. Dudley looked relieved when he was presented with the usual handshake; he didn't think he could stand to have to greet another guy that way. Mrs Mason was fine, but that might have had something to do with the décolleté of her white wrap-around sun dress. His own mother looked very conservative and dare he say _old_, but comparison, in her own very prim light blue floral printed dress. Mrs Mason's dress barely reached her knees, whereas Dudley wasn't sure the last time he'd seen his mother's knees. Not that he ever really looked, of course.

"Make yourselves comfortable. The flight isn't for another hour at the earliest," Mr Mason continued, gesturing to the area they were sat in. "One thing you have to admire about the French is that they take their right to strike very seriously."

"I don't think admire is the word I would use," Mrs Mason sniffed. "Flying stresses me out as it is, I don't need delays. And there are always so many birds on the runway, just sitting there, watching us, waiting to get stuck in the turbines…waiting to kill us all... I think I need a massage. Or a strong drink. What do you think Petunia?"

"Both sound wonderful right about now," Petunia replied, glossing over her disturbed look with impressive speed as the other woman turned to her. The birds were going to _kill them all_? She needed more than a strong drink.

"Thank goodness champagne is perfectly acceptable any time of the day. Ling Mao has the most exquisite hands, you will just die."

"Mother," Nick said, rolling his eyes, "Ling Mao is American Airlines. I'm pretty sure the one here is called Jessica. You can't stereotype all workers of non-British origins and assume they have Chinese names."

His mother snatched the newspaper he was reading out his hands. "Go do something fun, sweetheart. Show Daisy and Dudley around the Lounge, play games, talk. Like _normal_ children."

Nick rolled his eyes again as he heard his mother making familiar complaints about him to her latest lady friend. It was a friendship that wouldn't last. His father and Vernon were already deep in conversation, more coffee brought to the table. The Dursley twins – he laughed internally every time he thought of them as twins, because they looked so little alike – looked awkward in their new surroundings.

"Right. Guess I'll show you round and you can decide what you want to do. They've got some new frozen yoghurt stuff over from America. It's all you can eat, but careful now, they don't have an unlimited supply." He stopped as he noticed that they were still sitting there, glaring as subtly as they could with their father sitting mere feet away. "Aren't you coming? They have a library as well. You like reading, don't you?"

"Of course she does," Vernon answered for her, noticing their reluctance. "Go on poppet. You and Dudley follow Nick."

Nick grinned. "Yes come on, _poppet_."

"I'm going to kill him," Dudley hissed as they got up, following a confident Nick, acting as if he owned the place. "I swear to God, I'm going to kill him."

* * *

The summer house turned out to a chateau nestled in the woods, updated over time to have all the necessary features twentieth century people with entirely too much money on their hands might need, including a swimming pool, a tennis court, stables further out past the woods, and scattered chalets for their year-round employees. It was very much like arriving at Hogwarts all over again; tired from a long journey with insufferable passengers but still capable of gaping at the sight of with the lusciously carpeted halls line with portraits so expensive they bordered on priceless (except they didn't move) and sparkling chandeliers dazzling at them from the high ceilings.

The bedrooms retained the classically opulent them off the chateau but with added modern features – flat screen television above the fireplace, cordless telephones nestled where you least expected them and jet showers of black marble. Daisy felt dizzy with all the sights, collapsing onto the large double bed as soon as her mother told her to be ready for tea in an hour. This was madness. It had gone from a deal on drill shipping to her father pretty much owning Grunnings Inc. to him possibly being Francis Mason's future _business partner_ – and to think if the dinner had gone the other way, they'd still be in Little Whinging, Harry's dead body hastily thrown in the Thames whilst she, Dudley and Petunia swore to take the secret of his demise to the grave.

Deciding she would fall asleep if she lay there any longer, Daisy went over to the large window that looked out onto twisting greenery that led to the tennis courts. She'd never played tennis, though she'd intended to give it a go had she made it to the prestigious _Our Lady of Grace_. She was about to turn away when something caught her eye. Was that – _Malfoy_? He disappeared from her view and by the time she'd unlatched the window to get a better view, he was gone. She shook her head. No, it couldn't have been him. The boy she'd just seen had definitely been taller, and besides the Pureblood aristocrat wouldn't be seen dead surrounded by Muggles.

Daisy put it out of her mind until two days later when she was out in town with Nick. They'd left Dudley at the house, where had returned to bed after breakfast with a stomach complaint (Nick was willing to bet his trust fund on five too many croissants) whilst the adults were off wine tasting or art admiring, or whatever it was that adults got up to in the south of France. Petunia had tried to complain about leaving the children up to their own devices, but Cheryl had been quick to remind her that the nannies and drivers weren't being paid to look pretty.

"In fact," Mrs. Mason had laughed as she placed her large sunglasses on her face, "I usually prefer it if the nannies aren't pretty at all. The more they look like the back of a racehorse, the better!"

From the look her mother had had on her face as she left, Daisy wasn't sure which of the Dursley women was probably having a rougher day. With her hand in his, Nick had so far led her through the labyrinth of whitewashed houses, all the same and not the same at all, terraced and yet of differing heights; some had balconies whilst others did not and some housed shop fronts whilst others had old women sitting on the steps who threw out a greeting to Nick as he passed. The market had caught her eye, and she looked like every tourist there, amazed by the stands of welded silver that glistened in the early afternoon sun and wished she knew enough French for. She'd lingered at a stall that sold bracelets of so many different colours she could have sworn it was magic. The little old woman selling them looked so wrinkled and wrapped in so many shawls that Daisy would not have questioned it if someone told her she was a magical creature.

They'd been to a little café offering the most delicious crêpes and ice-cream that Daisy had ever tasted, which was surprising given that she'd had Fortescue's, before stopping off at a bookshop piled high with books mostly older than her and in a language she had never previously felt any need to understand ("They all speak English, so we don't have to," had been her father's stance on the matter of her learning a second language) and were on the way to Nick's favourite bakery, when he stopped suddenly, muttering under his breath as he caught sight of something ahead of them.

It was the boy she'd seen from her room.

It certainly wasn't Malfoy, but he reminded Daisy of him, if not taller, tanned and perhaps more welcoming. He held himself in the same self-righteous manner, peering at her with eyes of the palest blue, which in another light might have been grey. His hair held white, sun bleached streaks against the platinum blond pushed back from his forehead with a black Alice band. He stopped loading baguettes into the basket in the front of his bike to greet the pair.

"Mason," he nodded, before his eyes flicked back to her. "And who is zis charming mademoiselle zat you have brought wiz you?"

"Daisy Dursley," she introduced herself, blushing as he reached for her hand, and brought it up to his lips. It deepened at the smirk he held for her.

"Ah, of course - the new family that Papa is complaining about. _Enchanté_."

"Daisy and I are going to be married one day," Nick informed his acquaintance, frowning at the interaction between the two. He wished the French would keep their kisses to themselves.

"Is zat so? My commiseration, Miss Dursley. I would only wish zis Englishman on ze worst of women. In fact, I believe quite strongly zat no woman should 'ave to suffer the existence of an English man."

Nick snorted. "What would _you_ know about women? You're only fourteen."

"Ah but I am more French than you, little Nicky. _Nous les français_… we are _born_ wiz such knowledge." His smile, though mocking, was straight and blinding. Daisy couldn't help but like him, especially his ability to set Nick's teeth on edge with his casual belittling tones. "I shall see you around Mademoiselle Dursley."

"Wait," Daisy said as the boy made to ride off. He peered curiously over his shoulder. "I don't – I don't even know your name."

"Malfoi." There was that smile again. "Jean-Pierre Malfoi."

* * *

Their paths crossed again soon after. Daisy was sat under the shade of a tree, half reading and half dozing. Whilst promising a quick and efficient way to learn the French language, the book open in her lap was neither interesting nor captivating, and the summer air was thick and humid. She did not notice that he had sat down until he spoke.

"You are a witch."

Too tired to even jump, she forced instead a nonchalant glance at the boy who had invited himself next to her. "Says who?"

"Says the owls zat 'ave brought you letters," he said, passing a package of wrapped letters, on top lying the thick parchment letter that signalled Hogwarts. "We 'ad to intercept zem as Madam Mason is _mortellement_ afraid of birds, and she will scream _mortblue_ – or 'ow do you say – bloody murder? - for weeks if we are not careful."

Daisy sat up straighter, smiling as she recognised a few in Millicent's handwriting. With the weight of the letters in her hand she could squash the feeling of being forgotten she'd been pretending she wasn't feeling since the start of summer. "Are there more wizards here?"

"Not 'ere, no," he said, leaning back on his hands. His hair had been freed from its band and fell into his face. "'ere is just our family and _les Moldus_ we are forced to let live in our homes. But zere are magical communities all over ze country – and, of course _Paris_. 'Owever, you are ze first one – err, 'ow do you say - born of non-magical parents – zat I 'ave met."

Daisy bristled instinctively. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Problem? No, but I must confess I have never met _un enfant des Moldus_ before. I attend Durmstrang, where zere is no such student, and I cannot exactly stop and ask every wizard zat I encounter their origin - it is considered bad taste. I mean no offence."

"So you don't think you're better than me?"

"You have magic, yes? Zen we are equal. Ze rest-" He spat on the ground.

"But you're surrounded by Muggles – non-magical people, that's what they're called in England."

"As punishment for my family involvement in the Great Wars, nothing more, nothing less. Zey say we are lucky not to be in prison or on the streets and yet we are bound like common – 'ow do you say – 'ouse elves! And then we 'ear of our cousins, gallivanting about killing our fellow wizards _sous pretext_ zat zey are inferior, and _zey_ go unpunished. Which is worse? Ze fight for our survival or ze fight for pure power? Zey are not wizards – no, zey are cowards, cowering behind nefarious men. Why do you look at me zis way? Do zey not teach you this?"

Daisy having entranced by his speech, made even compelling by the lilts of his accent, jumped when he turned to her suddenly. "N-no."

"Of course not. Your Ministry – Papa has much to say about ze English. You should come to dinner one night, if you can get away from 'little Nicky'. I imagine 'e is afraid I will steal you away from him."

"I'm not his to be stolen," Daisy mumbled, snapping the bracelet he'd gotten her earlier that day. She was only wearing it now because her father would have a fit if she snubbed Nick's generous gift. And she had to admit that in certain lights, it was very pretty.

"'E does not think ze same as you do. But you are safe with me, Marguerite. I am already betrothed, as is tradition. And she is a beauty zat I would do great offense to by comparing you."

"Gee, thanks."

He smiled at her glare. "Again, I mean no offence to you."

Daisy's attempt at a reply was disturbed by a shout that come from an open window of one of the chalets. "_Jean-Pierre! Maman a dit que tu dois aller nettoyer l'écurie_!"

"_J'arrive_!" he called back, sighing as he did so."My younger sister, Claudine."

"How come you have a sister?"

"Why would I not?" He looked at her strangely. "Why do you 'ave a brother?"

Daisy hastened to explain her question, asked without thought to how her curiosity might come across. "No, I just meant – I was told that Purebloods don't usually have more than one child, that it's considered common."

He fixed her with a look, taking her aback when he threw his head back in laughter. "_Mais les Anglais_! What nonsense! One child? One?" It took him awhile to right himself, and find the breath to speak between continuing chuckles. "Of course not - the more the better! What if something should happen to the heir? What of the great line?"

A dark haired woman seemed to appear out of nowhere, a covered basket at her hips. "JP, I hope you are not mocking our guest."

"I could not 'elp it - Marguerite tells me ze English Purebloods do not 'ave more than one child because –" He stopped as he felt another laugh coming along. "-because zey think it is _common_!"

Though she did not laugh like Jean-Pierre, a smirk appeared on her lips. "Don't let them fool you. It is not because they do not want – it is because they cannot. The Gods do not forgive the sins of the flesh, which cannot be avoided if you are marrying your cousins." She smiled at Daisy before turning sharp blue eyes at the still laughing boy. "Come JP, the stables should be already clean and Mademoiselle Dursley should get ready for dinner."

"Why do you keep calling me margarine?" Daisy asked, accepting Jean-Pierre's offered hand, one of the many questions now on her mind. "My name is Daisy."

"Marguerite - it is ze same thing," he shrugged. "It is your name but in French, zerefore better. It is not an insult. I-"

"I know, I know. You mean me no offence."

* * *

_Dear Millicent,_

_Sorry that this reply is so late. _

_According to Harry, there was a house elf stopping the post coming through for most of the summer. I wasn't going to believe him, but since he was able to send me a letter from the Burrow (apparently that's what the Weasleys call their house, which is apparently very cosy) no problem, I'm going to assume he might have been telling the truth, and wasn't just making up some story to cover for the fact that he almost ruined __the__ most important dinner of my father's life. And then, Dad forced us to go to France with his new business partner and his stupid family, with his wife who is deathly afraid of birds apparently so all owl post had to be intercepted by the wizarding family that works here. Well, technically they own the place, but Jean-Pierre's father has a very strong accent and I think most of his explanation was insults anyway. _

_It's rather strange meeting a wizard here. I never think about the wizarding world beyond England. Which is also a bit strange given that I think Hogwarts is in Scotland – right? How's Croatia anyway? Are you still helping your Aunt there or are you home now? It sounds a lot more fun than what I'm doing though – I'd rather be attacked by Venomous Tentacula every day than have to suffer through another Mason dinner. You know what? I should just do what Dudley does and say I'm ill every other meal. The French foods must really not agree with him because he's not been outside since we've been here. Actually, that's a lie. We went to the pool once. _

_The town's alright, I suppose. Nick knows the locals, and we always get fresh food, and there's always somewhere to relax. And by that, I keep finding new places to hide from Nick. It's like Hide and Seek except if I'm over at Jean-Pierre's he won't ever find me. They're such a nice family, a little bit angry, but that's understandable. I think. Claudine is not as annoying as you'd think for a little sister. She's very smart for her age, and looking forward to starting at Beauxbatons in September. She showed me her uniform and it's so pretty! It's all blue and floaty and it makes me wish we weren't stuck with black and grey for our uniforms. That said, I should be grateful for what I have given that Dudley has to wear maroon knickerbockers. _

_It's her stationary I'm using as well. Do you like it? She got it this morning when they went to their version of Diagon Alley. I can't remember what it was called. Claudine gets very excitable with her French and I'm pretty sure poisson means fish, and has nothing to do with their shopping district. They were nice enough to pick up my stuff as well. Apparently the bookkeeper gave them the only set of Lockhart books they had in stock for half price. He felt guilty for making me pay for… well, apparently he used the word 'merde' a lot when he was putting together my booklist. I don't think the French like the English very much. But I think on the whole, they're a lot nicer than what Aunt Marge usually has to say about the French. Or anyone. _

_I know you hate all things mushy, but I miss you Millicent Bullstrode. I think it's been awhile since I've had a real friend, and so it's strange for me too, don't worry! Girls are usually my competition, not my friends. Lavender and Parvati wrote too, send their greetings and passing gossip. If you don't know already, you'll be happy to know that the Parkinsons aren't hosting this year Helenium Ball because Pansy threw a tantrum because Daphne was chosen as bridesmaid for the Ilminster wedding, (because the bride has neither friends nor sisters but it's a big wedding) right in the middle of Twillfitt and Tattings, in front of Augusta Longbottom of all people. How embarrassing, right? _

_I'm going to go. I need to go find Jean-Pierre so he can post this letter for me before the Masons or my parents return. The Masons are off visiting family and Mum and Dad are looking at holiday homes. I'm supposed to be looking after Dudley, which is pretty easy given that he doesn't move from under the covers. _

_Hope you're well, and see you soon._

_Love,_

_Daisy_

_PS – What is the Helenium Ball, what's so important about the Ilminster wedding and why is it embarrassing that she did it in front of Mrs Longbottom in particular, and what is Twilfit and Tattings?_

* * *

Taking full advantage of this Nick-free streak, Daisy took a right instead of a left as she reached the end of the corridor, slipping into the room opposite her own. She really hadn't seen much of her brother at all, and she could barely see him now, huddled under the covers in his bed, the curtains drawn shut against the afternoon sun. She climbed across the double bed until she was sat cross-legged next to him, prodding him until his round face poked out from the covers. Whilst Daisy had steadily grown tanned over their stay, Dudley seemed to have acquired an odd sallow complexion whilst the bags under his eyes betrayed a lack of sleep despite Petunia spending nights rocking him to sleep like she had done for all of them when they were children.

"What's wrong Dudley? Is it your stomach again?"

He made a small motion with his head that Daisy took as a yes.

"Maybe – maybe some fresh air will do you some good? We could go lie by the pool again – or I've found this really good tree that's always pretty shaded. We could make Daisy chains or I could teach you some French swearwords."

"I'm fine here."

"Nick's not about, if you're wondering." She sighed and leaned on him, resting her head on what she guessed was his shoulder. "I wish you weren't sick. I think you'd really like the town. Tanguy does some really good pancakes. He's Belgian you know, not French, so maybe his food might go down better? And then there's the market…"

Daisy filled the room with her voice, hoping that he might tell her to shut up, that he didn't care or interrupt her to demand why she'd got to go places he'd wanted to go like he usually did, but he didn't say anything. He just stayed curled up in his little cocoon and had no answer to her suggestion of watching something, even if it was in French probably, so she just let the silence return. He'd done the same for her over Christmas; just sat there on the sofa and been there. And it had been nice. So even though she was worried about him, and wanted to keep talking, to keep asking, she let him have his quiet. He broke the silence.

"They all talk about me," he confessed, his voice a tight whisper. "I looked up what _cochon_ means. It means pig. They all think I'm a big, fat pig. They laugh at me, all of them. And stupid Nick-" He let out a choking sob. "Dad just wishes he had him for a son."

"That's not true Dudley! That's not true at all," Daisy said, moving so she could hug him tightly through the covers. "Dad absolutely loves you. You're his Dudley, a proper Dursley – _normal_. It's just business. And you're not fat and you're not a pig. You're just big boned with a healthy Dursley appetite."

"No, I'm _not_! That's just what you and Mum say because you're my family – Dad says Aunt Marge is sturdy and she's the size of a – of a fucking house! I'm fat, and I'm useless. You're the better twin, the special one. You've _always_ been the special one."

"Don't listen to him, you hear me? He's just a stupid boy who thinks he can say whatever he wants because his Dad has lots of money and power. But you're better than him – loads better than him. And there's no special twin. There's no better twin. If you were a girl I bet he'd have wanted to marry you and Dad would have never let him near me because of you-know-what. _And_ I reckon you could take him in a fight, even without Piers or Duncan with you."

"You're just saying that."

"I'm not – and even if I was, you should listen to my lies over Nick's. I'm your sister. Even better, I'm your _twin_." She laid her head back down, snuggling close to him. "Don't worry, I'll beat him up for you when I get a bit taller. I'll make him pay for hurting you, just like you almost took Weasley's head off."

"I'm supposed to protect you," Dudley argued. "I'm your big brother."

"No – we're supposed to protect each other."

* * *

_A/N: Many apologies for the delay. There was just a scene or two__I was having trouble with, and per usual completely rewrote several times over the course of the past month or so in between episodes of real life. My main issue is that everything that happens now, will eventually have an effect on what happens later, but I'm still hashing out theories for that, so I don't want to set anything set in stone. 'Cos once you start disputing Horcruxes, how else are you going to explain a great bloody Basilisk running rampant? But then if you don't, you're setting yourself up to go Horcrux hunting at some point. Bloody cause and effect.  
_

_On a more relevant note, Malfoi is pronounced Mal-fwa, like foi gras, and, yes, I am indeed making an attempt at (more) sensible Weasleys. I will also make an attempt to update before the end of the year. _


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

The station masters at King's Cross Station had long stopped wondering why Platforms 9 and 10 were always so busy come the first of September every year as far as they could remember. If they ever thought it odd that there were owls in cages and cats prowling around legs and kids with trunks being shouted at by oddly dressed parents, when they went home later that night, they seldom remembered. Daisy felt a warm tug at her heart as she ran through the barrier of Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters and the scarlet engine came into view, looking as majestic as ever in the early autumn sunlight. They couldn't see Harry or the Weasleys yet but her mother didn't seem overly concerned by this. She kept trying to put a hand on Dudley's forehead, who could only dodge her so much as he pushed the trolley along to an empty compartment.

"Are you sure you're alright, honey?" Petunia said, peering at her son oddly. She hadn't been too keen on him coming all the way to London but the return to British soil seemed to have done him a world of good. Even the sunburn he'd acquired in his sister's attempt to get him a tan was an improvement on the paleness that had plagued him the past fortnight.

"I'm _fine_, Mum," Dudley insisted, swatting away the potentially embarrassing hand. "Come on, let's get the trunk on the train."

With only a little bit of huffing and puffing the three Dursleys managed to manoeuvre the trunk into a compartment. After all, there was only one to do this year and without Harry around no one was tripping over their feet to help, not that any of them were complaining. It was a nice feeling to do something themselves rather than waiting around awkwardly for a porter to bring up the luggage. Daisy caught the glares her brother kept directing at passing students, some doing a double take at the sheer intensity from this unknown boy.

"Dudley, stop that!" Daisy hissed as she pulled him into a hug before one of them took it upon themselves to return a hex instead of a confused glare. "I'll be fine, I promise. I'm going to miss you, you know. And you – you take care of yourself, okay?"

"Ugh, geroff me," Dudley replied, shrugging his sister away. As much as he was beginning to see her as a human being, he was far from appreciating hugs from her administered in public quite yet. Especially when he was sunburnt. Seeing her face though, he quickly added, "Mum says you should write to me through her - if you want to - but I think it'd be kind of cool to have an owl fly into Smelting's. You know… if you sent like a few – you've got school owls, right - I could say it was like my own personal army of owls and that they'd attack-"

"No, absolutely not," Petunia interrupted as a tell-tale gleam appeared in their eyes. Though Vernon could never see it, Petunia could tell when washing up liquid bubbles were about to froth out of the kettle after a purely academic conversation on the subject at the dinner table. "No owls, understood? You were already skating on thin ice last year, young man. And you too, young lady. One more letter from a Head of House or a Head of Year and there will be Big Trouble. And I expect to see improvement in your grades. Not that that should be hard given the state of them last year."

"Yes, Mum," Daisy appeased, as she allowed herself to be pulled into the final hug in four months. It was a conversation they'd never got round to finishing. "Miss you already."

"You'll write to me if something happens to upset you, won't you? I won't – I _won't_ make you leave, but I don't want you dealing with this on your own."

"I'm not on my own Mum. I have friends – and Harry." Daisy smiled at her mother's eye roll. It was nice to squash that occasional worry that her mother might one day start liking Harry more than her. "I'll see you both at Christmas."

With a final wave, she watched her mother and brother disappear into the crowd, hoping that Dudley didn't run into Malfoy; they would be sure to recognise one another. Brothers were stupid, but she was kind of glad she had one. With fifteen minutes to spare, Daisy settled back and tried once again to read one of Lockhart's books. The shopkeeper had been right to turn his nose up at it as way of textbook – it read more like an epic tale of continuous, unwavering chivalry than anything factual, and she was getting quite sick of all the perfect dental work in her life. She was glaring at the sleeve of _Break With the Banshee_, particularly at Lockhart's occasional winking, when the door of the compartment slid open.

"There you are!"

Millicent dropped the trunk she had been dragging along to accept the hug from her friend and roommate. Daisy had caught up the inch or two that had separated the two girls in height, and they now shared a tan and sun streaked hair. She marvelled as her Millicent singlehandedly manoeuvred her trunk into place, before sitting back on a seat, a smile on her square face.

Daisy was about to enquire about her holiday when something moved in Millicent's chest pocket.

"Millie – I think you have something –"

"Oh, right." She reached into her pocket and pulled out something furry. "This…is Wonka."

"And what's that?"

"It's a cat," Millicent said, prodding the little fur ball until it uncurled, large green eyes opening slowly at the disturbance. "A stray that Mum was testing her new potions on and it came out like this. And I thought since I don't have a familiar, why not?"

Daisy continued to peer at the creature in her friend's hand. "It's the size of a rat."

"But, it's a cat. It might have other properties now as well – you can never be too sure with Mum. Or Aunt Mafalda. If I've learnt anything this summer is that alchemists are crazy and poison ivy is really itchy. Sorry I didn't reply – Dad decided to sail across to Italy without telling us so we had to spend three days scrolling for him. I don't think Mum's ever going to let him out of her sight without a Tracking charm ever again."

Daisy held Wonka apprehensively as Millicent gave her an abbreviated version of her adventures in Eastern Europe where it seemed her aunts had set up their research labs due to the restraint the British Ministry of Magic placed on a lot of what they did. The Former Yugoslavian Ministry of Magic did not seem to mind or care at all so long as rent was paid on time, their Obliviation team paid sizeably for any explosions that might occur and rewarding the homeless Muggles with food in return for Potions testing was more than encouraged. Millicent's mother preferred her animal test subjects, which was considered the more atypical approach.

"Tell me more about France," Millicent said, taking back her 'cat' which had curled back into a little ball. Daisy was reminded of a hedgehog. "We've never been – Dad hates the French, of course, and Mum thinks even the food is too stuck up for her taste."

"It's not that bad actually – I quite liked the French, even if I didn't understand a lot of them. The Malfoi – that's the wizarding family – were really cool. Claudine said she'd write to me once she got settled in at Beauxbatons, but I don't think Jean-Pierre will, as it might offend his betrothed? That's a thing right? Right. It was nice, I guess. I think Dad's thinking of getting a place out there since apparently we can apparently afford _everything_ these days."

"Congratulations on finally getting on the same financial scale as the rest of us, I guess." Millicent smirked at the face Daisy pulled. Her blood status, whilst the most problematic, hadn't been the only thing that differentiated her from the rest of the Second Years. "Did you get your broom then?"

In the moment Daisy drew her breath to launch into a tirade about her stupid backtracking promise-breaking stupid father, the compartment door slid open, revealing two identical heads of vivid red.

"Ah, not who we were looking for," Fred said, if the jumper he was wearing was at all accurate.

"But we might have a word with you anyway," George continued, inviting himself into the carriage and each twin sitting either side of Millicent. "You see, we did much thinking over summer as our young Mr Potter tried to wheedle out of us the terrible things which reached our ears in regards to you Ickle Snake."

"And we decided that the noble, Gryffindor thing to do would be to offer our services of protection."

"It terribly offends us that a lady, even from the rotten House of Slime, could be in distress."

"Therefore-"

"-for a nominal fee-"

"-we'd be more than happy to make sure your brother never tries to kill one of us again."

Daisy blinked. This she had not been expecting. "What's your price?"

"Only your undying gratitude," George said.

"And the Slytherin password."

Sighing, Daisy leant back in her seat. "No deal."

"You only need say but a name, and they would rue the day they messed with outlawed Zonko's products," Fred added, spreading his hands openly. "One name in exchange for one password."

"So you can waltz into the Common Room and turn it into your personal playground? No deal, Weasley."

"We hear rumours about you too," Millicent chipped in, looking at the boys on either side of her curiously. Their knowledge of uncommon knowledge was both impressive and suspicious. "The one Common Room you've never managed to get into is ours. And we're not going to let you. Even we know what you did to the Hufflepuff one."

"It was never meant to be the stuff of legends," Fred said, shaking his head sadly.

George mirrored his movement. "We merely thought they would appreciate some badgers."

"Except being the naïve second years that we were, we thought skunks and badgers were all the same thing. A mistake we will never make again after detention with Sprout left us smelling like a dragon's backside for a month."

"Such bittersweet memories of our youth - which is supposed to be enjoyed, and that is all we want for you. It _your_ happiness that we have in mind. It just so happens that it would also benefit us greatly."

"As flattered as I am," Daisy informed them, "thank you, but no thank you."

"And they say _Gryffindors_ are stubborn," Fred sighed. "Well, it's your loss. But on the off chance that you change your mind, you know where to find us."

"At the Gryffindor table or in detention," George précised as he got up, his brother following.

As Fred made to close the compartment door behind him, he paused. "Say…you haven't seen Harry have you?"

Daisy shook her head. "Should I have? I figured he was with your lot."

"And a perfectly legitimate assumption to make. Enjoy the rest of your journey, lckle Snakes."

Now alone again, Daisy noticed Millicent had this Look on her face.

"What?"

"I always have to wonder how you end up knowing these people, Daisy."

"Well actually, they sort of just showed up at our door one day..."

With Wonka once again in her pocket, Millicent leaned back in the seat and smiled as she half-listened to the sound of Daisy recounting her summer in enough detail that if her attention span could ever stand it, they could make it to Hogwarts and Daisy would have only _just_ started explaining the story behind her brother's sunburn.

* * *

The journey to the castle this year was a lot more pleasant. Rather than making their way towards Hagrid's booming figure, they followed the crowds of older years to where horseless carriages, like the one that had taken the Gobstone team down to Hogsmeade last year, sat waiting for them. Neville who had found them shortly after the food trolley passed seemed to be relieved at this change of transport. He would have to try very hard to fall out of the carriage even with his luck, though Trevor did make a very nearly successful attempt to jump out of the partially rolled down window. They parted ways in the Great Hall, going to their respective tables out of the four that represented the Hogwarts Houses.

Taking in the enchanted ceiling and the rows of golden plates, Daisy really couldn't help but smile. It was good to be back.

"I wonder where Professor Snape's going," Millicent said, drawing Daisy's attention back from where she was trying to understand what Parvati was miming in response to the greetings they had exchanged across the Hall. They weren't the only ones watching their Head of House as he left the Hall, parting the thinning trickle of students still making their way in. The walking stick he was still using did not go unnoticed. "Daisy?"

"Maybe he just needs to pee?" Daisy offered, schooling her features into something other than the guilt she had locked away, now pooling into her stomach. When she'd been thinking of Hogwarts this summer, her mind had been on Quidditch and getting away from the Masons – it had not been on the events of last term. Snape was supposed to be better, Madam Pomfrey was a bloody _liar_ and-

"Strange. I didn't think he needed to do things like that."

"Yes, such things as breathing, eating and smiling are entirely too good for our Head of House."

Millicent smiled, giving Daisy an affectionate nudge with her shoulder. "I missed you, Dursley."

"Of course you did - how could you not, Bullstrode? I am, after all, Daisy Dursley."

"Of no House-"

"-and of Muggle birth-"

"-with questionable relations-"

"-and a best friend so ambitious she's apathetic at best."

"All in all," Millicent concluded, "the epitome of Slytherin."

The two girls attempted to stifle giggles that they burst into, in hopes of not attracting any undue attention. After all, even with the Slytherin win of the House Cup at the end of the year, amongst other things, that had helped to bridge some of the distance due to Daisy's (and to a certain extent, Millicent's) blood status, they weren't exactly what you would call friends with the rest of the Slytherins in their year. Millicent had elected to spend the summer abroad and therefore missing out on important socialising that might have bridged the gap whereas Daisy still invited looks of disdain, irritation and indifference through her sole presence at their table. Muggleborns were rarely Sorted into Slytherin and they were rarely welcome, and despite every rule having exceptions, very few Slytherins liked _exceptions_.

Thankfully, the most unorthodox Sorting this year was Jake Harper, a cocky little blond with an American accent whose saving grace was that his family were Pureblood expats and now a big name in all things Quidditch. He was quick to tell anyone he introduced himself to that it was only a matter of time before he joined the rest of the family ("My father's head of the NQA – the National Quodpot Association," he could be heard saying), but with all the bragging that went on at Slytherin table at the start of term, his chatter faded into the background. Even if he _could_ compete, bragging rights always went first to the oldest wizarding families, and once an exhaustive tour of the British manors had been undertaken, next were the European summer homes and only then the occasional eccentric venture into the remaining continents which were quite frankly too far beyond their comfort zones.

There were the usual start-of-term announcements – Daisy shot a smirk in Marcus's direction at the mention of Quidditch tryouts, not catching Malfoy's equally smug look – and soon they were heading down the familiar winding corridors with only one thought in mind: sleep. Except as she took a leather pouf next to Millicent, having upgraded from the cushions reserved for the first years, whispers began piercing her post-Feast bubble.

"Well, it explains why the teachers left," a sixth year said as she held a copy of the _Evening Prophet_ in her lap where her friends could easily see it. "Snape's always on the case when he can get a Gryffindor expelled. Especially Potter – we'd get the Quidditch Cup back for sure."

"Must be serious if the Headmaster left as well."

"Yeah, but it's Potter. If he can bend like five million school rules and just get a pat on the back for it. I bet you anything they'll just look the other way even if he did break the Statute of Secrecy."

"Did you see Ponce Weasley's face though? It must have been Potter and his Weasley sidekick - and _his_ family won't get away with a charmed car. Not when his father works in that department."

"Could if he had Muggle in him."

"No, they can just expand their cars, add features to it, that sort of thing. They draw the line on flying cars - might as well bring flying carpets if you're going to do that. Besides if mixed-blood families want cars, all they have to do is go back to where they come from."

"I don't think that's the issue behind that particular bit of legislation…"

"I'm sorry - am I the _only_ _one_ who doesn't give two flying centaurs about Potter? How about the fact that Snape is a fucking _cripple_?"

Right on cue, the man in question arrived, his usual sweeping steps now accompanied (and slightly stilted) by the regular thunk of his walking stick on the stone floor, but this new addition did not make him any less intimidating. The plain wood he had used at the end of last term had been replaced with one made of a darker wood, which in fitting with his standing was decorated with a rustic silver snake that coiled around the body of the stick, its onyx eyes staring out that students, much like its scowling owner, whose face betrayed deep displeasure.

"If you are sitting before me then you have been granted the privilege of being a part of the greatest House that holds Hogwarts together. Public opinion seeks to slander us, portraying us as evil wrongdoers when evidence points to quite the contrary; we are ambitious, cunning, level-headed and every other adjective that you can pry from a dictionary to describe the very best of wizarding society. Other Houses will seek to inflame rivalries but you must not rise to the bait, because know this: you are _better_ than them."

Daisy was surprised. She had thought Snape's speeches would be more or less identical every year, memorised verbatim. It hadn't occurred to her that he might think himself above doing the very thing that he continuously berated the likes of Hermione Granger for.

"We are not _idiots_ who will take an enchanted car flying over Muggle Britain in broad daylight because it seems like a 'good idea'. I will not afford unwarranted favouritism to even members of my House; you fail to meet the standards that I require, then do not for one second think I will pat you on the back and send you on your merry way. You will repeat the year until you Graduate or you die – whichever comes first. You may also decide to leave; the door is always open, and good riddance. Many of you here come from fine upstanding families and feel that it is your family name that speaks for you – I say the contrary. It is the common sense, amongst other qualities, that they had the sense to instil into you, that distinguishes you from others. Your name means very little if you feel that the school rules are beyond you, that you can act out of turn without an inch of subtlety without going unpunished. Unless of course, you are the _Boy-Who-Lived_."

His cold gaze fell upon her and Daisy wondered if her wide-eyed look was enough to portray her innocence in whatever Harry had done now; she hadn't seen her cousin for a good month now and if he had somehow gotten his hands on a flying car, this was news to her. After an excruciating moment, he looked away, eyes turning to the first years instead, many awed to find that the stories they had heard of the Slytherin Head of House were for the most part true.

"Rules are in place for a reason, and I expect them to be followed reasonably; obvious rule flouting will not be tolerated in this House, and nor will adherence to the detriment of your fellow Slytherins. I do not ask you to be loyal to one another, but I ask you to be loyal to your _House_. I can assure you that if I were allowed to exercise greater power, the House Tournaments would be all for show because the Cups would remain where they belong, and the drapes at the Leaving Feast would never need change - without their precious Seeker, the Gryffindor Team would be as atrocious as they have been for the most part of a decade."

"Tell it like it is, sir!"

Snape smirked at the whoops and cheers mainly from the upper Year boys who had long left behind their fear that their Head of House might suck their blood way back in their innocent first year, accompanied by a general murmur of assent. A lazy wave of the hand silenced what had now become a traditional yearly acclamation.

"Termly meetings with First, Third, Fifth and Seventh Years will be affixed on the noticeboard per usual, as it has shown that it is not a waste of time to have students who I can be proud to call my Slytherins. I can only apologise for my inability to carry them out at the end of last year." Those who were awaiting for an explanation as to what exactly had happened at the end of term were disappointed. "I will leave you on this final note: what cannot be sorted with the help of Prefects and this year's Head Boy, I expect to be brought to me. We shall never be ripped apart from within, is that understood? Slytherins stand _together_ and proud. Good night."

And with that, he left the way he had arrived, students silent until his walking stick could be heard no more, and robes faded into the shadow. The signature ripple of his robes as he swept down the halls would be missed.

* * *

Daisy did not have to wait until the arrival of the Howler the next morning to find out the sparse details of what had happened – speculation started the minute Snape had left, the few copies of the _Evening Prophet_ being passed around and discussed to the point that even those who hadn't read it with their own eyes knew the content. It seemed that the Weasley's Ford Anglia was charmed to fly and for some reason known only to them, Harry and Ron had thought it a good idea to fly to Hogwarts rather than take the Hogwarts Express like sane, well-adjusted members of society. Common consensus in the Slytherin House was that Harry Potter was an attention seeker and needed to be brought down a peg or two; so far, Daisy's name hadn't been added to the mix, just a few knowing glances and murmurs and she could only pray that it stayed that way.

"So _that's_ what a Howler actually sounds like," Daisy commented, watching the ripples in her tea as Mrs Weasley's voice rang through the dining room with pained curiosity. "It's a bit much, isn't it?"

"I didn't think the Weasleys could afford to send one that loud," Malfoy sneered, gingerly rubbing his ear as the normal sounds of the Great Hall returned. "Though it would explain a lot if she's illiterate. Stupid Weasels."

Daisy hid her grin behind her hair as she made to stand up – they'd heard the Hags talking about the scandal that happened in Diagon Alley on the day of Lockhart's book signing the night before and she'd had a good giggle behind the drawn curtains of her four-poster, rather sad she hadn't been there to witness it. Once again the thought of locking her father and a wandless Lucius Malfoy in a room seemed the only logical course of action in this lifetime. Arthur Weasley would serve well as a referee.

"Where are you off to?" Millicent asked.

"I thought I'd go and do some gloating," Daisy answered, her stifled smirk easily turning into a mischievous grin. "Do a spot of information gathering, and see Harry, seeing as I haven't spoken to him yet."

With that Daisy set off in the direction of the Gryffindor table where Ron remained a dashing shade of beetroot, not helped by an unsympathetic Hermione. She slid in next to Neville, greeting him as she ignored the strange look she gathered from the Prefect Weasley and waved to Lavender and Parvati a little further down.

"I think," she began, "we can all agree that that was horrible on the ears. Thank you Weasley for shattering our eardrums because you and my delightful cousin decided to take a fly across Muggle Britain in an enchanted car. In broad daylight, might I add."

"Get lost, Dursley," came Ron's response. If he sunk any lower he'd be under the table. She turned to a more receptive audience instead.

"Hello, Harry! How lovely it is to see you again. I thought I'd see you on the train but-"

Harry cut her off, looking a dire combination miserable and gloomy. "Daisy, what do you want?"

"Well, I was going to ask you how your summer went, and if you missed me, and if your aim in life is to _ruin my life_ but I think I'll stick to business - what were you _thinking_?"

He shrugged. "The barrier was closed. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Daisy rolled her eyes. "Gryffindors." She chose to notice that Harry was staring at a letter in his hands rather than the glares in answer to her previous comment. "What's that?" She didn't give him time to respond before reaching over and snatching out of his hands. She recognised the handwriting instantly. "_Mum_ wrote to you?"

"Yeah – Dumbledore wrote to them."

_Harry,_

_I would like to thank you for yet another dinner ruined. Luckily Mrs Mason was too busy running out of the door with Mr Mason and your uncle hot on her heel to make sure she didn't run into trouble to notice the letter that the owl delivered. I was left to find out that you were not on your death bed, which might have been forgiven, but that you had come close to being expelled._

_You should thank the Headmaster that you were not. _

_We did not raise you this way. You've always argued that trouble came to you, that you didn't go looking for trouble and yet here we are. It was not the car that came to you to be driven now, was it? I asked you to make me proud and all you have done is bring shame and trouble onto our family._

_I will tell you the same thing I have told Dudley and Daisy: one more letter from school and you'll have to think twice about setting foot in this house again. And if I hear wind that your actions have made things hard for Daisy yet again, your uncle will be the least of your worries._

_Aunt Petunia_.

"Wow," Daisy whistled, handing back the letter. "Well at least, for once the Boy-Who-Lived actually gets in trouble. Bet you'd have got a medal and two hundred House points if McGonagall could get away with it."

"Perhaps you would like to lose twenty points if I 'can get away with it', Miss Dursley."

Daisy jumped. She hadn't noticed that the aforementioned Professor had been making her way down the Gryffindor table handing out timetables, nor had she been expecting it; Slytherin timetables appeared in the Common Room and Snape usually made himself available for those who needed to change the options chosen following exams results. He didn't think it was fair to let the entire House know you'd failed a subject, even if they had their own powers of deductions and whispering behind warded curtains.

"That's okay, Professor," Daisy said weakly, swiftly standing up, her cheeks colouring under the older witch's gaze. "I think I'll return to my own House table."

"I think that might be a sensible idea."

Daisy's heart sank when she realised she had Transfiguration first period.

* * *

Daisy's assessment last year that McGonagall looked like she could just as well be Head of Slytherin was confirmed that day. The constant pressure not to get points taken off pushed her to transfigure her beetle into a button in record time and to not even _dare_ complain about the lack of points awarded for this feat. The threat of point loss turned out to be on the whole more efficient than actual point loss – very Slytherin, if the second-year Slytherin had to put a label on it. Daisy was sure the McGonagall smirked at her as she filed out with the rest of her class on the way to Charms, avoiding the beetles on the floor Entwhistle had managed to multiply instead of Transfigure.

As the Slytherins made their way to Defence Against the Dark Arts, lugging their assigned texts with them, Daisy took instead to lamenting the loss of Quirell (as a teacher and _not_ as a vessel for You-Know-Who) who had provided them with several hours a week of Hangman and the loss of their Ravenclaw partners-in-boredom. If last year's Potions class was to go anything by, being paired with the Gryffindors was just asking for disaster. At least Malfoy took it upon himself to humiliate Harry beforehand, largely helped by Lockhart's interference. Daisy found she did not mind what Malfoy did as long as it wasn't directed at her or Millicent. Or Neville, for that fact. She'd developed a soft spot for him ever since he'd taken the Leg-Locker Jinx for her.

"I still can't believe I got his books for so little," Daisy told Millicent as they unloaded their books onto the table. "They didn't seem think it really wasn't worth the paper it was printed on."

"I think he might be a bit of a fraud," Millicent agreed. "Mum doesn't take him seriously at all, but who cares when he's so dreamy?"

Daisy glanced over at where he was leaning against the desk, waiting for everyone to file in and settle down, his turquoise robes contrasting with blond perfectly coiffed hair. He was nice to look at, that she couldn't deny, but Daisy had learnt over the summer that good looking people were the ones you should look out for. Well, Jean-Pierre had been nice enough. If you looked past the fact that his family remained staunch Grindelwald supporters. Instead of swooning as might have been expected from her new Professor, Daisy turned narrowed eyes to her best friend whose cheeks had taken on a blush that she'd never seen in the girl.

"Dreamy?" Daisy repeated. "You think he's _dreamy_? Is that the same as interesting?"

"Wouldn't dream if I wasn't interested, would I?"

Daisy's look of disbelief continued as Lockhart introduced himself. Was she the only girl in this class who didn't think him dreamy? She couldn't be! And yet even Hermione looked like she might melt if he winked in her direction instead of trying to impress boys who were trying very hard not to laugh in his face. She might have expected this from Parvati and Lavender who would occasionally giggle, or even the Hags who were paying more attention to their teacher than they ever did, but never from Millicent. Not her Millie.

"You _know_ the answers?" she asked incredulously as Millicent began jotting down responses to the ridiculous test Lockhart had just set for them. Having not had the opportunity to read more than the first half of one, Daisy knew nothing about the man. Except that he probably wasn't a defence against the Dark Arts in his own right, which seemed to be his claim to fame.

"I know some," Millicent shrugged. "You just pick some things up when you're reading."

"Come now ladies," Lockhart said, bringing a hush to the class. "Focus on your own work. I won't know which areas are your personal weaknesses if you help each other out!"

Daisy most definitely preferred her teachers to be afraid of their own shadows rather than this obnoxious, self-absorbed, _incompetent_ man pretending to be a Professor. Quirell would have only brought one Cornish Pixie at the end of a week of study around the creatures, and he would have never released them even if he knew how to get them back in, just in case he lost his nerve and couldn't. However boring his lessons had been, and even if he had tried to kill Harry and permanently maimed Snape, at least Daisy had never had to defend herself from an eight-inch electric blue creatures trying to pull her hair and throw half her belongings out of the window.

"_Peskipiski pesternomi_ sounds like a bloody pizza!" Daisy hissed as she ducked out of the way of a flying portrait only to be hit in the face with ink. "Is he still dreamy now? Is he?"

"He probably doesn't know what pizza is," Millicent replied, untangling a pixie from her hair as she packed up her stuff before it found its way out of the window. "It's not his fault they threw his wand out of the window."

"Who are you and-" She ducked out of the way of Finnegan's attempt to get rid of the pixies by chucking his books at them "-what have you done with Millie? He's a teacher! Or at least he's supposed to be. He's worse than Quirell."

"You're not having a good day with thinking about what you're saying before you say it, are you?" Harry asked as he ducked past her. "Had Transfiguration yet?"

"That wasn't funny!"

"Really? I think it almost made me feel better."

He laughed, dodging Finnegan's _Travel With Trolls_ she'd just thrown in his direction, laughter cut short as one of Neville's legs swung dangerously close to his head. No one had time to ponder how the pixies had even managed to get him high enough to hang from the chandelier, too busy fighting for their own survival.

The bell rang none too soon, followed instantly by a mad scramble to gather anything of value and head out of the door. Once out of the classroom there were a lot of relieved sighs as people headed to their respective Common Rooms to dump their textbooks and get rid of the ink many of them were now covered in. Daisy decided that Lockhart was to her as Quidditch was to Millicent and started up a conversation about pizza instead.

* * *

"I don't even know why you're bothering to try out," Malfoy informed her as they stood on the edge of the Quidditch pitch waiting for everyone concerned to arrive. The sky was grey, threatening rain that never fell and adding a chill that made Daisy rub her hands together. "No girl has been on the Slytherin Quidditch team since forever and that was because _her_ father was on the Board of Governors."

"Well, it's about time that changed then, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, Mudblood. Between you and me, there's really no competition."

"We'll see about that, won't we Malfoy?"

Despite her cool stance, Daisy knew this wasn't ballet – the majority of the boys trying out towered over her, even Malfoy managing at least half an inch. With deliberate deep breaths, she told herself over and over again that size wasn't everything; with Marcus's old Cleansweep Six in hand, she felt like she had a chance. He believed in her, Selena believed in her, Millicent in the stands believed in her and most importantly, she believed in herself. No matter how many times the rest of the boys asked her if she'd gotten confused on the way to Sewing Club or if she knew that the broom in her hand wasn't meant for sweeping.

"Right. We've got Seeker position open, and a Reserve team to pad," Marcus began when it looked like no more people would be arriving. There was no need for introductions - Slytherins had a tendency to know of each other one way or another. "The way we do it is we split you into teams – team members will fill in any gaps, the rest will be taking note. We like to have well-rounded team members who can not only play their position well, but can also hold down others if need be. We've had a situation where Professor Snape managed to get a Gryffindor Chaser suspended and McGonagall's retaliated by putting half the team in detention on the day of the match – and gotten away with it. So you'll rotate positions within your team – the winning team will be the first considered for the positions. The losing team…" His dark eyes scanned those before him. "Well, I don't take well to losers."

Well, he had failed to mention _that_ when she'd cornered him the night before to ask for both a broom and what she should expect today. The last thing Daisy needed was pissed off Slytherins blaming the loss on her; she'd had enough of being their scapegoat. She'd come to realise that her Housemates had selective memories when it came to Muggleborns, and it was only a matter of time before the glory of the House Cup wore off. With each warm up lap around the pitch, Daisy grew more confident she'd make sure her team won. At least the mornings sneaking out of the girl's dormitory window on a broom to avoid Higgs had paid off – compared to the sluggish move of a school broom, the Cleansweep Six cut through the air, moving at her command rather than having to be forcefully willed into submission. Despite one or two moments when her turns were a little slow and she felt she might slip off, all this added to what little flying lessons they'd had, ensured she could handle herself in the air.

The greatest disadvantage of her frame came when Marcus blew his whistle and a thick-set third year thrust the Beater's bat into her hands. This was no ordinary bat. It had to be the heaviest thing she had ever been forced to carry – attempting to carry it, let alone swing it, whilst staying on the broom was not something she'd ever brag about being capable of doing. She was glad to see that Malfoy struggled as much as she did for that part, getting an earful from Montague when a Bludger nearly took off his head. Not that she had time to laugh because her Keeping skills were just as good, swearing she'd make up for the five goals she let in by being much better in Chaser position. She'd always been better at Netball than Rounders anyway, managing to sneak around Vaisey to catch the Quaffle and pass to a waiting Jeremiah, who proceeded to score before a Bludger knocked him off his broom. She told herself that helping to set up five goals made up for the five she'd let in.

The final whistle blew, and Daisy found herself facing Malfoy as they rotated into the position that they were both trying out for: the empty Seeker spot on the Slytherin Quidditch Team. His Comet Two Sixty was faster, and he took great joy in zooming past her, causing stray strands of hair to fall into her face, but she had learnt a thing or two from her brother. As they zoomed towards the tiny Golden Snitch glinting in the setting light halfway up a goalpost, Daisy did what she had to do to make sure that her team won - she elbowed him out of the way. Hard.

"Foul!" Malfoy cried out, glaring at Daisy's triumphant fist pump and the cheers of her team as he clutched at his winded side, fists clenched tight. He wanted nothing more in that moment to knock the toothy grin off her sweat-stained face. Marcus blew his whistle, calling a definitive end to the tryouts. He waved aside any of Malfoy's attempts to whine.

"There's no such thing as a foul on the Slytherin team Malfoy," Marcus smirked. Daisy stumbled as a large hand whacked her on the back. "Well done, Dursley."

* * *

Daisy could barely concentrate in the days that followed. How could Marcus torture them – well _her_ - like that? She had needed to know the minute she emerged from the showers, the advantage of being the only girl being having a changing room all to herself. Her entire focus gravitated around the Slytherin notice board, waiting for the moment where she would look upon it and find that all important sheet of parchment with her name on it. Daisy didn't understand what was taking him so long. She exercised a great deal of self-control in order not to question him on it every time she saw him – she had spent enough time in detention with him to be well aware of his limited patience, that he wasn't beyond changing his mind on a whim because he suddenly found her irritating. Especially when there was another potential Seeker. The only reassurance was remembering the feel of that Golden Snitch in her hand as she caught it, its wings still fluttering against the her hold and drew comfort in thoughts of future victory. Harry's face when she snatched it from right under his nose when they finally faced each other would be priceless.

Friday morning Daisy all but ran down the stone steps, half expecting to see the usual notice board, void of the thing she actually cared about. Her heart sped up as she caught sight of what she had been waiting for the past couple of days. As she neared it, her eyes fluttered closed, suddenly too afraid to look. What if – no, she told herself, telling herself to breath, to calm down. She had this. One deep breath and she opened her eyes.

_Team Seeker: Draco Malfoy  
Reserve Seeker: Kevin Bletchley _

Only the sudden numbness stopped her from ripping the list from the notice board. Daisy was sure her heart was beating only out of sheer stubbornness. It was only when the words before her had grown blurry with the tears beginning to sting at the corner of her eyes that she turned and trudged back up to the dormitory. Now apt at ignoring the curious looks she got from Parkinson, Davis and Greengrass, she threw herself onto her bed. They'd soon figure it out anyway.

She didn't cry, no matter how much she wanted to – she just couldn't. So she just lay there, on top of crumpled sheets not yet gotten to by the house elves Parkinson always insisted were doing something or other wrong.

Daisy hated a lot of things. Amongst those was not getting her way, losing and disappointment. This was a combination of all three and it hurt so much more than any fall. It had always been that way, and once again she was several miles away from the person who had always made it better. Perhaps it was her fault for not preparing herself for this outcome; she'd always thought that with Marcus as Team Captain, his girlfriend her number one champion and with winning the House Cup last year, that it'd be obvious she should be on the team. _And_ she'd been on an older broom.

"I didn't get on the team," Daisy mumbled into her pillow as she felt Millicent sit next to her, feeling Wonka's delicate footsteps padding past her and out of sight. "He didn't pick me. I wasn't good enough."

It was an odd feeling, another feeling that she hated and strove to never feel if she could help it: inadequacy. Daisy didn't want to be perfect, that was a stupid, unattainable notion – everyone's idea of perfect was always so different anyway. What she hated was the feeling of failing at something she had put her all into - failing at something when there was no plausible reason why she should have. That position was rightfully hers and yet, she didn't have it.

"I'm really sorry Daisy," Millicent comforted. "There's always next year. And four more years after that. It's not the end of the world."

"I know. It's just…"

"I know." Millicent had enough experience with Quidditch related depressions. Her father could spend up to a week in bed mourning the end of World Cup dreams and he was a grown man. "Let's go get some breakfast, okay? You'll feel a lot better."

"I'm not hungry."

"That's just the misery talking. Come on."

Daisy tried to brush it aside, to push down the pain in her chest that promised to come back up as bile and tears, but it was hard when she had to spend all day catching snatches of Malfoy's bragging. Even Millicent's suggestion she write to her mother didn't go well.

_Dear Mum,_

_I tried out for the Slytherin Quidditch Team and I didn't get on the team. Not even Reserve. Because I am a loser. A loser loser loser loser LOSER_

She'd torn a hole in her parchment as she scratched at the word she felt etched on her forehead. Millicent didn't say anything, just taking the quill away when she started scratching into the table. She honestly didn't know what the blonde would do without her. She could only sigh when Daisy got up suddenly and left the Library with not so much as a word.

"Yes, of course Daisy," Millicent mumbled to herself as she turned her attention back to the Potions essay at hand. "I'll bring all your crap back to the dormitory since you asked _so nicely_…"

* * *

A walk round the castle to clear her head led her back to the Slytherin Common Room where Daisy curled up in an armchair with a view of the noticeboard. Though she knew it was ridiculous, she still half-heartedly hoped that if she stared hard enough at it her name might shimmer into existence and Malfoy – both name and person – might disappear off the face of existence. Slytherin Seekers were the bane of her existence. She ducked behind a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ she'd found in the armchair as some of the boys from the team came down their staircase and into the Common Room.

"It's brilliant. I'd been meaning to get a new broom anyway – this way I can save up faster for our boys' holiday away."

"Mother's never going to let me go."

"That's why we're saving up, you idiot. Parents can't complain if it doesn't come from the family coffers can they?" Pucey said, flicking Miles Bletchley on the nose as he opened his mouth to protest further. "You know, I honest to Merlin thought Flint was going to choose his little pet over Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. For a moment or two I really did."

"Have you _seen_ Wilcock when she's on a rampage?" Derrick asked. "Just think of the reaction your Mother has when you tell her you want to wait a bit before you get married, and that, my friend, is what Flint is going through. I think I'd rather spend the night with Lockhart."

"And I think Lockhart would heartily oblige," Bole sniggered, crying out as his fellow Beater gave him a friendly punch which was about as mild as an unfriendly one.

"Don't give the half-blood more credit than she deserves," Pucey drawled, his eyes on the trophy cabinet housing a replica of the House Cup to always remind them what they were striving for. The Quidditch Cup needed to return that year. "Wilcock's just going to give him grief for a couple of days, like any girlfriend does – they'll all get over it. What did she think anyway? That a Malfoy was actually going to get beaten out by a scrawny little Mudblood and he'd take it lying down?"

"Got to give her credit though," Bletchley shrugged. "She's got guts."

"I reckon she's just stupid," Derrick offered. "You'd have to be."

"She's a Mudblood – I don't think their brains are wired the same way."

"I don't think your brain's wired at all," Pucey teased, swinging his arm around his friend. "Get a move on you lot. I'm a growing boy and I need sustenance and lots of it."

"Sorry, were we ruining your appetite with the talk of Mudbloods and half-breeds?"

"Oh, how well you know me."

Daisy waited until the sound of their voices had died away before heading out. She was in desperate need of another walk, some fresh air, and a good cry, whichever order they decided to come in. They came all at once.

* * *

It had grown dark and cold and still Daisy remained sat in the stands staring at out at the Pitch that was now nothing more than a black hole circled by the stands. Another year would go by and she would not be a part of it; she'd sit in the stands, hoping and praying for a Slytherin win that she really had no influence over. The promise of Gobstones did not ease the heavy disappointment that remained coiled around her heart which she was pretty sure had now taken up permanent residence in her stomach.

"It's past curfew."

Daisy continued to stare straight ahead, ignoring the bounce of the wooden bench as the large boy sat himself next to her. She did not betray her gratitude at the cloak he threw over her shoulder, warm from his body, though the involuntary shiver betrayed just how cold she had grown. She was aware that he was looking at her, waiting in that infuriating way people who knew they were in the wrong waited, waited for some sort of reaction. Eventually she pulled the cloak tighter around her and asked the question that had been whirling around her mind.

"Why?"

"He pulled a power play I couldn't ignore," Marcus sighed. "Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for the _entire_ Team is not an offer I could decline. He's basically handed us victory on a silver plate - I couldn't say no, and if you were in my position, you wouldn't have said no either."

No, she wouldn't have. As she'd sat watching the sun set, she'd thought about this. She recognised that Malfoy had indeed used his most powerful resources – his name and wealth. And if her father held even just a slither of understanding of how much she needed this, she was sure he might have spent the money he was currently squandering renovating a perfectly good house on securing her rightful place on the team. This wasn't just about her; this was also about the Dursley name he was always harping on these days. Dudley didn't want to go to Smelting's anymore anyway.

"Why am I not even on reserve then?"

"Lucius Malfoy refused to support a team that had a – you on it."

Daisy scoffed. "Of course. No Mudbloods allowed."

"You shouldn't call yourself that."

"Why?"

"Because your blood has nothing to do with anything."

"My blood has everything to do with everything in this stupid world!" Daisy snapped, hands balling into fists within the folds of his cloak. "Everything! You people never allow me to forget it – _never_! It's alright dear, you can play Gobstones because everyone there is alright with Muggles! Muggleborn this, filthy Mudbloods that, all day every day. Even if _I'd_ bought the Team brooms, I bet you anything that there'd be someone who refused to accept it because they don't take things from a 'lesser being'! Even the stupid passwords seem to always refer to some sort Pureblood supremacy. So don't you _dare_ tell me that blood has nothing to do with anything!"

Marcus was unfazed by this outburst. If he hadn't already received an earful from another Slytherin female, he might have allowed his amusement to show on his face.

"If you keep telling yourself that, you're never going to get over it," he pointed out instead. "Other people say that what your parents are is important. I say it isn't. It's your choice who you decide to listen to."

A small smile appeared on her face. "Your lies are the only lies I should believe in, right?"

"If that's how you want to put it… You're very odd Dursley."

"Most people say I'm stupid."

"Well, I don't recommend you spit on this particular Pureblood."

Daisy winced as she punched the sixth year, glaring as he laughed and ushered her in the direction of castle. She felt a lot better than she'd done all day.

* * *

_**A/N**__: And we're back at Hogwarts! Told y'all I'd update before the end of the year ;) Oh, and I think I got my first flame you guys – apparently this is "another shite crap OC! Mary Sue story" and I shouldn't "harass the public" with it… Says the person who hadn't read past the Prologue. It's always nice to hear what you guys think, but I also appreciate your reading, following and favouriting as much. So thank you, and until next time!  
_


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

"And then - and then – he just – started _belching_ all these slugs all over the place and then – this is the best part – Wood tries to stop one of the Weasels from getting to Flint and _he_ slips on a slug, lands face first in Bell's chest who takes Johnson down with her, who manages to twist her ankle!"

"Don't forget the part where Spinnet tried to –"

"- that girl has a thing for me. The sexual tension is just –"

"Nothing though, _nothing_ beat the looks on their faces-"

"I thought Wood always looked that constipated-"

"Nah, you're mistaking him for Ponce Weasley-"

"Why _are_ there so many of them? It's-"

"-and so with that, they fuck off back to their stupid tower, covered in mud, grass and slug slime looking like the losers that they are-"

"That they _will_ be."

"Three cheers for our newest Seeker-"

"- for the brooms, the inevitable success-"

"- and putting those Gryffindorks back in their places!"

"Hear, hear!"

Daisy rolled her eyes at the roar of laughter emanating from the corner of the Common Room where the Slytherin team were holding court, recounting what had apparently been the best practise of their entire lives - humiliating the Gryffindors was merely the big, juicy cherry on top. Though fresh from the showers, the brand new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones remained by their sides, the highly-polished handles gleaming even under the low lighting of their dungeon Common Room. Malfoy couldn't have looked any prouder if he tried, preening like a peacock as he lounged in one of the sofas, smirking at the clinks of Butterbeer in his honour and Harper's excited babble about the virtues of Nimbus Series over the Cleansweep to his fellow first years. It was as if he'd already managed to win the Quidditch Cup; from what Daisy had gathered in between their sniggering laughter, all Malfoy had done was provoke Ron's wand into backfiring.

"Weasley's a walking health hazard," she could just about hear Greengrass sneer as she and Parkinson lounged nearby, "Surely the poverty funds can stretch to a few Galleons to get him a new wand. Bet they wouldn't be laughing if Draco had actually gotten hurt."

"But he wouldn't have would he?" Parkinson said, staring at the chess piece between them, paying as much attention to the pieces shouting at her as she was to the conversation that had now turned to talk of tactics – 'A Chudley Cannons Guide on What Not To Do' as Pucey so wittingly put it. "He's Draco Malfoy. He can dodge anything Weasley throws at him."

"Well, considering his father can't dodge a Weasley punch, it doesn't bode well for his son does it?"

She moved her Queen with a lot more gusto than was necessary. "He's _not_ his father."

"One day, he will be," Greengrass dismissed, leaning forward to take her move, russet hair falling gracefully from her shoulders. "_Check_."

They were part of the circle of mostly Slytherin females partaking in various positions of repose as they waited for their objects of obsessions, boyfriends, betrothed, study partners or friends to remember that there was life outside of the Quidditch pitch so that they could resume it. Daisy noticed Selena sat a little further away, deep in conversation with her girl friends, occasionally casting dark looks at where Marcus was sat in the centre of it all, quiet as usual, but sure to make his presence known. He was no Crabbe or Goyle that's for sure, but he was a man of few words, and Quidditch Captain to boot.

"If you stare any harder, you'll set one of them on fire."

"I wasn't staring," Daisy snapped, though the movement she had to make in order to return to the book open in her lap suggested otherwise. She hadn't even noticed that Zabini had taken a seat opposite what she had dubbed her armchair. It's distance from the fireplaces made it an unpopular seat. "If you hadn't noticed it's kind of difficult not to notice them."

"You're jealous."

It was a simple statement, but Zabini had an infuriating way of making economic use of his words to deliver the stinging effect he desired. Daisy was beginning to question if he could open his mouth without delivering an insult. She tried very hard to look like she _wasn't_ trying hard not to be affected by it, though she wasn't sure if meeting his gaze did just that.

"Jealousy, Zabini, would imply that I want something that I can't have."

"So, I'm right then, aren't I? Don't tell me that even after a year you still haven't faced facts?" Daisy's fingers tightened around the book, but otherwise she kept her face neutral and refused to look away, despite the unsettling intensity of Zabini's light brown stare. "They might humour you, find some use for you – you know, you might even get to play for the team given Flint's…_interest_ in you - but you'll never be a part of them."

"We'll see, won't we?"

Amusement appeared in Zabini's eyes along with his broadening smirk. "What do they all have in common besides a desire to get repeatedly hit round the head with a Bludger?"

"I'm not playing your games, Zabini."

"Who's playing a game? I'm taking pity on you, Mudblood – some might even say I'm trying to _help_ you. I'm preparing you before the harsh reality finally sinks in through your thick Muggle skull. Seriously? Not a clue? I suppose you wouldn't know, given your standing."

"Go on then, enlighten me."

"They're all Society boys - every single one of them."

She'd been expecting something like it, but it still hit her somewhere as she cast a glance back at them. Montague and Pucey were in the process of delivering a pep talk to Malfoy which included the legendary tale of rise of their Captain, who had soured Charles Weasley's Quidditch Captaincy ("_Again_ with the Weasleys – how many of them are there? Has anyone actually counted?") by leading the Slytherins to victory every year until, of course, the Boy-Who-Lived returned to the wizarding world and Higgs developed butter fingers. Though she could imagine herself lifting the Quidditch Trophy come the finals, she suddenly found it hard to see herself being afforded the same attention that Malfoy was being given; not only because she was a Mudblood, but she wasn't one of the boys.

"It doesn't matter," Daisy begun, "Marcus-"

"Didn't need much convincing not to pick you, did he? He's also one who's worked very hard to get where he is, given what he is. Though rare, exceptions can be made, so long as you have the name, and on occasion, the vault to match. But _you_-" Zabini gave a derisive snort. "You will _always_ bear the taint of your birth. You can't even contend yourself with making a worthy match because no self-respecting Pureblood would want the likes of you. "

Daisy felt a muscle twitch in her jaw. "Are you quite finished?"

"Are you?" he shot back. "Your continued attempts at finding a nonexistent place in this House are becoming rather pathetic."

"I'll make a place."

"And which place will that be? Granger's already taken the academic spot, though until the exam results came out, everyone thought the race was between you and her. What a surprise it was to find that you had only outranked the two dumbest wizards in our House - what a _relief_." Daisy's jaw clenched involuntarily, fighting to keep her breathing easy, to not rise to his bait. She had no desire to once again spend a fortnight in detention nor did she want to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he was getting to her. "Tell me, Mudblood, did you really think that you'd get a thank you for your self-sacrifice?"

"I- it was self-preservation, actually," Daisy replied coolly. "Tell me, _Pureblood_,-" Zabini's eyes narrowed at the mimicked disgust she placed behind this address, "-do you think I'd even be able to sit here, relatively undisturbed, if I'd beaten Malfoy academically and then trounced him at tryouts? Do you not think I prefer this to having some bored Pureblood calculating a new way to try and get rid of me solely because I was born to _normal_ parents?"

"Ha! Normal? Your parents are anything but – they gave birth to you, didn't they? A Mudblood Slytherin lacking enough sense to be Sorted into Gryffindor or, better yet, _leave_. You have no purpose here."

"Like I said, Zabini, we'll see, won't we?"

"Why don't we analyse the situation now?" replied Zabini, holding up a hand so that he could emphasise each point as he made it. "We've already acknowledged that you won't ever become Quidditch Captain due to your lack of connections and very existence, and it's very unlikely the half-bloods would ever give up their Gobstones Captaincy after they took so long to make it theirs. Snape will never nominate you as Prefect given that not even a house-elf would listen to you, and finally, you lost the title of Head Girl the minute you dropped your academic level to pander to people who won't ever thank you for acknowledging your rightful place."

It was the last point that made Daisy's heart flutter in panic. "What do you mean I lost the title of Head Girl?"

"Oh, didn't you know? Other than becoming a Prefect, the only other way to become a Head Student is to show academic brilliance and well… Don't look so upset, Mudblood. That really wasn't my goal. Like I said, I'm only trying to help you."

Millicent looked surprised to see Daisy storming up the stone staircase as she was coming down, hoping a hearty lunch would get rid of the last niggling traces of sleep. "Where are you going? The Great Hall is that way."

"I'm not hungry anymore," Daisy snapped.

"Afternoon to you too," Millicent muttered to herself as she continued her descent, sighing at the sound of the heavy dormitory door being slammed shut. It was far too early to be dealing with Daisy's mood swings, though the roar of the Slytherin team and friends as she entered the Common Room went partway to explaining this last tantrum.

It was only a habitual reflex of looking for Daisy in her usual seat that alerted Millicent to Zabini's presence in the Common Room. "What are you looking so happy about?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," he smirked. "I was just being nice to your Mudblood, like you asked."

Millicent sighed. Well, that explained everything. "What did you say to her?"

"I didn't insult her, if that's what you're implying. I just thought it was time for her to hear some truths. Personally, I think she took it rather well."

"I've known you long enough to know that the Truth According To Blaise Zabini is always insulting. I'll assume that's why there's no Theo to be seen?"

"He received a letter from his father yesterday," Zabini replied lazily. "Davis took him to the Hospital Wing before he flaked off his own miniature snowstorm."

"Lovely."

"My thoughts exactly. Well, since our usual company is otherwise indisposed, it makes sense that we head to lunch together. Might as well take advantage of the quiet before those Bludger Targets decide they want lunch."

Millicent eyed him suspiciously before replying. "Your Solution turned green rather than blue on Thursday because you didn't chop up your mint leaves finely enough and more than likely allowed it to boil, which you really shouldn't do if you want optimal results with Solutions."

Zabini looked slightly surprised at this reply. "I didn't ask for Potions help, Millicent."

"Then why would you want to have lunch with me?"

"Because it's an opportunity for us to continue to get better acquainted. If I must admit, I was rather glad my family was able to aid yours in looking for your father, however…unorthodox he is as fathers go. You're actually not as terrible as Pansy might have us think. The only real shame is that I can't stand the stench of the company you choose to keep."

Millicent narrowed her eyes. "She's nice."

"She's not one of us," Zabini affirmed. "Without you keeping her afloat, she'd have sunk as surely as the last Mudblood. Now, are we having lunch or not?"

"Only to figure out your ulterior motive, " Millicent replied, standing up. There was no real reason for her to reject his offer, even if he had just spent Merlin how long goading Daisy into a mood. She was hungry.

He smiled. "I'll give you three guesses."

* * *

"Good morning, Neville."

"Hi Daisy," Neville greeted back as Daisy invited herself next to him. "How are you?"

"Terrible," Daisy replied, as she reached for a bowl and cereal, hands covered in ink. "But I think after some food, and company with some decent people, I'll be as right as rain."

"Where's Millicent?"

"Asleep, as usual. She naps as often as Wonka does and I'm even starting to think they shed as much as each other."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Everything is just great."

Neville didn't know what else to say, seeing as her tone and general appearance seemed to suggest otherwise. He wondered what the lettering on her jumper said as he watched her slowly set about getting together a bowl of cereal. He'd not yet tried these corned flake things, which if Dean's explanation was anything to go by, was like porridge but not, but he was rather surprised when she begun adding teaspoons of sugar and milk in such an order and with such precision that he did wonder for a moment if she was making some sort of potion. He wondered what she was doing, but she seemed so focused that he didn't feel like disturbing her to ask lest it blow up.

By the time Harry, Ron and Hermione came down to eat Daisy had just finished adding four teaspoons to her cup of tea and was pouring herself a glass of orange juice. If they thought her presence was odd, they didn't say anything, greeting her as if she was just another Gryffindor enjoying Sunday brunch. Neville tried very much not to stare as Daisy began to eat her breakfast, wondering if it would have some magical effect. It did seem to perk her up a little. Perhaps it was a Muggle Pepper Up…Breakfast Meal?

"I heard another one of your spells backfired," Daisy stated as she reached for her tea. "Between the Howler and your broken wand, you've been providing my House with quite a few laughs."

"I was wondering why you're here," Ron said, stifling a yawn as he did so. "You never have anything nice to say when you come over. Should have known that as a Slytherin you were here to gloat."

"Actually, I came here for the company – Slytherin gets a bit… _much_ sometimes. Plus, we have no more free periods at the same time, and you forget that _you've_ been hogging Harry all summer, Ron."

"I forget you didn't like sharing," Harry smiled, "Even the things you don't even really like." She pulled a face at him. "So who're you getting away from?"

"Right now, Malfoy's gloating. If I hear one more word about how great being Slytherin Seeker is, I swear to God –" Daisy sighed, and reeled in the annoyance that had been bubbling at the surface all night. "I can't wait until next year. Rumour has it that _Starships Ltd_. are finally breaking out into broom production, and I'm going to get that broom, whatever it is, whatever the cost. I'll show them."

"Are you planning on using my name again?"

"Daddy's credit card," she corrected absentmindedly, her mind already calculation how she was going to get either get her father to part with…two thousand quid or so, or somehow get hold of the money her aunt had left for her without her mother having a fit. "Money isn't the issue here, thanks to the Masons we're pretty comfortable now. And it's not like I'm asking for two thousand Galleons to kit out the whole team…"

Ron choked on his food, and it was only several thumps from Harry and a goblet of pumpkin juice later that he was able to react as he'd originally wanted to. "Two _thousand_ Galleons? For a place on the Quidditch team? Two _thousand_ - that is mental. Even for Quidditch."

"Yeah, well, if he catches the Snitch, it'll have been worth it, right?" Daisy sighed. "He better bloody do. I don't really see how they can blame me this time, given that _I_ could easily catch the Snitch, even on a Cleansweep Five, and Higgs was on a Seven last year…"

Harry's brows furrowed at Daisy's absentminded musing, deepening when he noticed her breakfast choice. He'd made breakfast for the Dursley's long enough that barring the occasional English Breakfast, she and her father rarely deviated from their toast-and-conserve variation unless- "Daisy…are you having trouble with your House?"

Daisy copied the gesture. "Why would I be having any trouble?"

"Because you're in a House with a git- or several actually," Ron offered. "Are they even saying _why_ I wanted to hex him in the first place or are they just laughing because they have nothing better to do?"

"Laughing because you're all stupid Gryffindors – not _my_ words! Just general consensus." She grinned back at Ron's glare. "Why did you hex him then? Well – try. And fail. Miserably."

As much as Harry appreciated the effort Daisy put in to make time for him, he would have hoped she'd be less antagonising when she came over to his House table. He would have offered to occasionally come and sit with her, but he wanted to sit at the Slytherin table as much as her Housemates wanted him there, which was not at all.

"I had to," Ron justified. "He called Hermione a bad word."

"A know-it-all?"

"Very funny Daisy," Hermione dead-panned, not looking up from the book she had open in front of her. "If you must know, Malfoy took it upon himself to call me a Mudblood."

"Ah," Daisy said, the orange surface of her beverage suddenly very interesting. "I see." She grinned weakly. "Malfoy's just _really_ not fond of girls."

"That's why they turned your hair green," Harry said, not smiling back at the inside joke. A lot of things were beginning to make sense to him now, and he didn't like it. Daisy felt the back of her neck growing hot at his scrutiny. "You're in a House that dislikes you for who your parents are."

"Actually, like I told you, they turned my hair green because you got made Seeker and they thought they'd accentuate how our family likes to be different. I'm in a House that dislikes my family in a very general sense of the term."

"T-that's not true," Neville said, flushing red as Daisy turned to look at him, blue eyes carrying a warning look. "Why are you defending them? Malfoy and-"

"Because they're my House, okay?" Daisy snapped, tone sharper than intended. "I am a Slytherin and I'm supposed to defend my House no matter what."

"And what about you?" Harry pressed on. "Who in that House would defend you?"

"Millie – Millicent does the best she can. And Marcus and Selena."

"Right, so three people in an entire house of what, a hundred or so students would defend you and you're here trying to tell me that what, it's alright that Malfoy called Hermione a bad name?"

"I'm _not_ defending Malfoy – I'm defending my House," Daisy argued. "And besides, if that's the first time Hermione's been called a Mudblood then she should consider herself pretty lucky. It's just a word. It's not worth puking up slugs over."

"It's not worth - it's not worth – You think it wasn't _worth_ trying to defend my friend over?" Ron demanded, too stunned to even form sentences as he stared at Daisy. "You do know what that word means don't you? He was saying she has dirty blood, common blood –"

Daisy cut him off with a glare. "Yes, I know what that word means, thank you."

"And yet you don't care?"

"No, I don't."

Daisy was rather surprised at the reaction that provoked. The debate that sprang up around her was led by Ron, having somehow taken Malfoy's slur to heart even if he was a bloody Pureblood, however poor. He would occasionally turn to Harry to back him up, which he did with vigorous nods, though his relative silence in the debate made Daisy believe that yesterday's altercation with Malfoy was the first time he'd heard the slur. All Harry knew was that it was bad.

"How can you not care, Daisy?" Neville asked.

"Because I just don't," she shrugged. "Malfoy certainly won't be the last to call Hermione a Mudblood, because to people like them, that's what she is."

"Nevertheless," the Prefect Weasley interjected, pushing up his horn-rimmed glasses to better peer imperiously at her, "such words are prohibited by the Hogwarts _Code of Conduct_. Any such behaviour needs to be reported to teachers who will met out the appropriate punishment in order to further ensure the cohesion of the student body. I might even go to say that it could be classed as bullying, and that is an offence worth suspension."

"She gets called a Mudblood once and you think it's _bullying_?" Daisy couldn't control the snort of laughter that came out. "And you actually think going to a teacher would solve anything? Clearly, Weasley, you've never been the subject of bullying."

"Whether I have or have not is besides the point. There are rules and procedures in place-"

"-and none of them matter when confronted to the reality of things."

"And what is that, Daisy?" Harry asked, cutting off whatever Percy was about to say. "What is going on? Are you being bullied?"

"Of course not," Daisy bristled. "I'm a Dursley. We don't get bullied."

"Oh that's right, I forgot - you _do_ the bullying."

In that moment the tensions at the Gryffindor table shifted to encompass something that only Daisy and Harry could understand through their steely stares, eyes so different and yet forever linked by the almond-shape inherited from their mothers.

"Well, I'd rather be a bully than an ungrateful, four-eyed, scar-faced scrawny little _freak_," Daisy spat back, before draining the sugar sludge that had remained at the bottom of her teacup. "Thanks for breakfast Neville."

With that, Daisy left the table, leaving behind a tension of curiosity, anger and emotion.

"I think you were a little harsh Harry," Hermione said slowly, once most people had returned to their food and conversations.

Harry could only stare at Hermione in disbelief. "You think _I_ was a little harsh? Did you not _hear_ what she just said to me?"

"Yes but she was upset. And no matter what's gone on between you two before, you have to admit she makes some effort to make it up to you in the end. I've got Ron and you, and Percy and pretty much everyone else on this table to look out for me. I don't think she has anyone."

"I-I look out for her," Neville said

Ron snorted. "No offense mate, but you're hardly the type to take on a bunch of Slytherins."

"I t-took on Crabbe and G-Goyle, didn't I? And I've taken a lot of Malfoy's jinxes for her – and stood up to the seventh years who were after her. Thought they were going to kill me…" He paled slightly at the memory of his near brush with death, only saved by Dumbledore's last minute entrance. "And I stood up to you."

"And that worked out well."

"He did get 10 points for it last year," Hermione pointed out, still a little guilty about hexing her Housemate.

"It's not my fault if she won't let me help her, is it?" Harry asked, frowning at the empty space before her. "One minute I think she's changed and then she just – if she's having trouble, why hasn't she come to me? Why won't she let me help her?" Why did Neville know more about this than he did?

"Slytherin pride."

* * *

It didn't take many lessons for Defence Against the Dark Arts to affirm its unofficial standing within the Hogwarts curriculum as the joke class. Comparisons to Quirell, Snape and Binns were frequent on all levels of the school, and the aforementioned might have respectively thanked him for upping their popularity if one wasn't dead, one not above doing such foolish things as thanking a person and the latter completely indifferent to anything that might veer from his subject matter for more than a few moments. Was Defence Against the Dark Arts not a core subject, all staff members, the entire male student body and at least a quarter of the female half might have agreed to go without the subject. A year couldn't hurt, right?

But alas, they were forced to endure the lessons. At least with Binns you could fall asleep, at least Snape gave you instructions and left you to blow off your own face, at least Quirell had been easy to sidetrack and could be occasionally bullied into tales of his authentic travels in Albania or "independent study" – at least they could be left in some sort of peace. But with Lockhart, when they weren't regurgitating useless facts about the vain wizard, they were listening to dramatic readings from his books, embellished with even more details than the expensive tomes already provided or _worse_: participating in pitiful re-enactments of his favourite scenes. Lockhart's favourite actor for the latter seemed to be Harry, but no one contested the favouritism in this scenario. They were quite happy to let the Boy-Who-Lived deal with the humiliation of spending a good portion of class wailing like a banshee.

A break came one afternoon when they found Lockhart leaning on his desk, positively beaming. And a happy Lockhart could never be good news for the general populace of Hogwarts. Even his more ardent fans knew this to be true all the while appreciating his beautiful, award-winning smile.

"I have a letter," Lockhart beamed, brandishing a turquoise parchment with gold lettering. The movement sparked a small shower of sparkling hearts. "From one of you here, it seems. I was given very specific instructions not to read it until you were all gathered in this very classroom, at this very point in time. Couldn't resist, could you? I don't blame you. And now I will acknowledge your work of art so that all your peers may be rendered jealous."

As he cleared his throat, flourished the parchment, sending more love hearts swirling around him, the class turned to look at their classmates, trying to find the tell-tale sign of an embarrassed, yet proud blush, but there were only the same curious faces.

_My dearest Professor Lockhart,_

_Since the day I saw your name on our booklist, my heart has not sat still. I thought it was only a dream until our paths crossed for the very first time in Diagon Alley. I was at your signing – how could I not be? – gazing at you with star-crossed eyes from across that crowd-filled and book-filled bookshop. All was perfect until the moment my father ruined it all. Can you forgive me for the attention we took away that was rightfully yours? How could he think beating up that ginger toe-rag was more important than the words that you utter so wisely?_

"Hold on a minute," Ron whispered. "That's-"

_From that day, I have read every single one of your books cover to cover – I asked Mother to place a cushioning spell on them so I could sleep with them close to me, in vain hope that I could absorb some of your knowledge, whilst I awaited the moment we would once again cross paths. And I was not disappointed to see you looking resplendent in your rightful seat at the Staff Table, your smile shining brighter than the stars on the charmed ceiling itself. _

_You are my idol, Professor, and there is not a day that I don't wish that the name of Malfoy could be as resplendent as that of Lockhart._

The stunned silence, Lockhart included as he took this moment to make sure he had read the name correctly, was followed by the roar of laughter of second year Slytherin-Gryffindor class, united behind a common source of amusement. Malfoy, as was to be expected, looked positively outraged. He opened his mouth to protest this outright slander, to inform the culprit that his father would know about this - Nott yelped as a slug plopped onto the table instead, quickly followed by another and another. Despite wanting to help her beloved Draco, Pansy stayed as far away as she could from the slimy creatures erupting from his mouth with each one of his attempts to speak.

Ron grabbed the letter as Lockhart dithered about his newest, most vocal fan, trying to figure out why his spells weren't doing anything to help the young lad. Daisy couldn't help but smile at the scene; Gryffindors in fits at the continued reading of the letter – '_I contemplate often and seriously dyeing my hair so it resembles the golden spun sunlight that sits upon your head'_-, and Slytherins trying very hard not to do the same. Hilarious didn't even begin to cover it.

"My father-" Draco began before letting out another mouthful of slugs. "-will hear- about – this – Weasley!"

It took Ron just as long to straighten up so he could answer to this accusation, doubled up with laughter, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as Seamus' accent gave the letter an entirely new level of hilarious. "I didn't do anything to you, Malfoy. My wand's in my pocket, and you saw what happened last time."

"Granger-"

"We sit in front of you," Hermione pointed out reasonably, wondering if she should all point out that it might be a good idea to conjure him a bucket, but wasn't entirely sure if he knew how to. "You'd have noticed if one of us turned around and hexed you."

"Well _someone_ did!"

The force of his anger propelled the exit of his next mouthful of slugs, forcing everyone to the edges of the Defence classroom, the Gryffindor boys now taken to showering each other with the glitter and hearts whilst reading their favourite passages, whilst the Slytherins looked around the room, wondering who was the culprit. Most of their appraisal lay on the Gryffindors, but one pair of hazel eyes remained in their half of their classroom – or rather, the Slytherin edge that they had been forced to.

"I dealt with a very similar case on my travels, of course," Lockhart supplied as his fifth wave of his wand lessened the flow but made the slugs fatter, splattering anyone who tried to get too close to the now very pale Malfoy, "But Continental Counter-Jinxes don't really work to the same effect so high up the Northern Hemisphere. You two – Drab and Doyle, right – help me carry him to the Hospital Wing. Class, you stay here and clean this up for my return."

"I hope he runs into Filch," Daisy smirked as she took a seat on the table to avoid the fat slugs that were now pretty much oozing over every inch of the Defence classroom. "It's at least two corridors and a staircase to the Hospital Wing. Serves him right for being such a rubbish teacher."

"He's not that bad," Millicent replied almost out of habit, as she cleaned slime off her shoes. "And you heard what he said. He's not trained in British spells."

"I thought the Defence Association was in _Britain_?"

"Maybe he works for their Continental Division?"

"You have terrible tastes in teachers Millie."

"And you suffer from Quidditch rage. We can't all be perfect."

"Apart from the person who managed to cast a wordless spell whilst being only a second year," Zabini supplied as he took a seat at their table. "It's rather impressive, don't you think?"

"It's probably Granger," Nott supplied as he followed suit. "Mind sharing the cleaning spell? I got hit by the post-Lockhart slugs and nothing I do is getting it out. Clearly, she's a filthy liar and a Mudblood to boot."

"I'd be careful what you say around certain company, Theo. Never know what might happen."

"I'm not a fan of Granger," Millicent said, casting a glance over at Hermione. She was the only one making an attempt to start clearing up the slugs squelching about. "And I never thought she could be so underhand."

"It's positively _Slytherin_," Zabini added, his gaze firmly on the blonde at their table.

"Careful Zabini," Daisy said, not once breaking eye contact, "It's beginning to sound like you might be impressed by her."

"Stupidity that surpasses even Lockhart's will always be impressive."

* * *

September washed into October, the frequency of the northern rain showers increasing as students settled into some sort of routine. Overall Daisy couldn't quite decide if this was at all an improvement on the last. Sure, she spent less time asking Millicent questions about her new surroundings, spending their free time up in the dormitory playing with Wonka, who Daisy was beginning to grow a little fond of (her mother had instilled in her a wariness for animals), or engaging in a spot of gossip in relation to the recent argument between the Captain of Chess Club and Selena, the former who had the audacity to even say that the Gobstones Headquarters had only been granted as blatant favouritism because Selena's grandfather had once been part of the National Gobstones Team.

The only thing that marred this friendship was that Blaise Zabini had decided that he had nothing better to do with his time than spend it with them, often accompanied by Nott, who at least had academic motives; Millicent was the best Potions students in their year even if her apathy and grades didn't reflect it whereas Daisy was a straight E student. Zabini's motives, however, had yet to be revealed, though as Millicent pointed out, his constant snipes were helping Daisy to get her tantrums under control. She also kept saying that he wasn't that bad once you got to know him, but Daisy had yet to see any evidence of this.

Daisy might have tried to find refuge at the Gryffindor table was she not currently in yet another silent feud with her cousin. She and Millicent still met up with Neville, partly because he needed Potions help, but mostly because they all got on and Neville had a healthy appreciation for Muggle references that both the girls sometimes slipped into, and it made one more person that Daisy could share whatever goods her mother had sent. Stubbornness was an attribute that the cousins shared; Daisy wasn't going to apologise to Harry when she had apologised enough and been nice enough to him since he turned eleven, and Harry wasn't going to apologise until Daisy came to him and told him what was going on so he could help. The Twins refused to tell him, Hermione said it was obvious, Ron thought his entire family was mental and Harry wasn't going to ask Neville because he didn't like the idea that _Neville_ had known before him.

That said, the lack of Higgs and friends did make life considerably easier. The only niggling thing in the back of Daisy's mind as she tried to focus on making it back on the Gobstones School Team was Quidditch. The Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match that kick-started the season would be a pivotal moment in her continued…happiness. However, if all the bragging that Malfoy did, particularly when she was within earshot, was to be believed, there was nothing to worry about. According to the cocky blond, he could just about catch the Snitch blindfolded and with one arm behind his back. Daisy hated him. Though Millicent thought her crazy, she felt a longing to be a part of the rain-soaked Quidditch players who trudged into the Common Room because along with pity, most of the students looked at them with a sort of pride. They represented Slytherin on the pitch and their hard work never went unnoticed, as was testament to the hot chocolate Parkinson always had ready for Malfoy to enjoy as he spoke of another great practise and the attention being paid to the Chasers play-by-play of their recent tactics _and_ if the rumours were true Bole was only passing because a third year was doing half his homework.

"He's lying, you know," Marcus informed Daisy one day when she was curled up on a sofa, waiting for Millicent to come down so that they could go over the Herbology essay due the next day. She cast a curious look at the older year sat lazily across the remaining space, watching Malfoy recount his near-perfect Wronski Feint. "Wasted most of practise shouting at him. He still hasn't got it through his pampered head that he's not as good as he thinks he is. He wants to lead but he doesn't really understand the importance of teamwork. He wants to play without understanding the importance of drills. He pisses me off."

"You tell me this like I care, Marcus," Daisy sniffed.

"I know you care, and you'll need to know his weaknesses if you want to challenge his position next year. Unless, of course, he manages to lead us singlehandedly to victory."

"I thought you said Lucius Malfoy wouldn't fund the team if-"

"Contrary to popular belief, Lucius Malfoy isn't the only person in the entirety of the wizarding world with money and influence." Something caught his eye and he quickly sat up, grabbing the book she had been reading out of her hand. "If Selena asks I've been helping – Selena! I thought you had study group."

"_We_ had study group, Marcus," Selena said, narrowing her eyes at the suspiciously wet sheen to his dark hair. "You said that you'd come back from practice early and meet us in the Library. _That_ was two hours ago." She flashed a tight smile in the second year's direction. "Hello Daisy."

"Ah, that was today? It completely slipped my mind. I was helping Daisy with her Potions homework and I lost track of time, sorry," Marcus apologised, waving the book he'd just snatched to reinforce his point. "You know how hard it's been with all the extra classes and studying, to balance everything with Quidditch. And you _are_ always saying that teaching someone else is the best way to learn."

"Yes, but preferably at your own level."

"Yes, but what better way to make it up to Daisy than choosing to stay and help her over Quidditch practise?" Selena continued to glare at him. "Look - I'm really trying here 'Lena and quite frankly, it's getting hard with you always questioning me. I don't need babysitting."

The anger on Selena's faced softened. "I'm just trying to help, Marcus."

"And so am I," Marcus said. He turned back to Daisy. "Are you all right to carry on with it on your own?"

"Yes – of course," she nodded, taking back her textbook, a little confused as to what had just happened. It didn't seem like a good idea to lie to her Gobstones Captain and yet it seemed like a worse idea to get her potential Quidditch Captain into trouble so she just played along. "Thanks for all your help. I think I get it now."

Marcus smiled. "Anytime."

Daisy wasn't entirely sure what to do with the conspiratorial wink.

* * *

"Daisy! Hey – Daisy!"

The girl in question allowed a group of third year Hufflepuffs to pass her as she and Millicent stopped to wait for the source of the voice to catch up to them. Herbology could wait a little for Harry Potter. Besides, the Mandrakes weren't as cute as Professor Sprout thought them to be, especially now they were growing into equally ugly toddlers in plant pots.

"Hi Millicent," Harry greeted as he came to a stop before them, only a little out of breath. He had spotted them as he turned at the top of the staircase. It was quite a way to navigate during the post-lunch migration towards classes. "Listen, I was wondering, if you two didn't fancy the Halloween Feast that much, if you wanted to come to a deathday party – for Sir Nick."

"What in the hell is a deathday party?" Daisy asked, looking at Millicent for more information. This was one of those times where she was at a loss too.

"It's celebrating Nearly Headless Nick's death day – you know, the day he died."

She gave him a withering look that reminded Harry of her mother. "I think I'll pass thanks."

"Me too," Millicent said. "I don't think the Bloody Baron would appreciate us going to another House ghost's deathday party. But you have fun. It sounds…interesting."

"Oh, right, yeah," Harry said sheepishly, "I forgot about the Bloody Baron. House loyalty and that." He stuffed his hands in his robe pockets, now more interested in his shoes. It was a moment before he spoke again. "I guess… Enjoy the Feast then."

"Enjoy hanging around ghosts," Daisy said, waving off her cousin. She and Millicent braced themselves against the bitter wind. "Did you see that? How weird was that? He hasn't spoken to me in weeks and he just invites me to hang out with ghosts."

"I think you're missing the vital point here, Daisy," Millicent said, pulling her scarf tighter around her head. "He just spoke to you. That means whatever you're fighting about now can be done with."

"Whatever. That was still not an apology. What? Don't look at me like that – it wasn't! Anyway, who on Earth chooses _ghosts_ over a banquet of delicious food?" She pulled the collar of her cloak closer to her as the wind tried to seep the cold through to her very bones. "Here's to hoping there won't be any trolls."

"I heard there'll be a troupe of dancing skeletons," Millicent said. "Booked as entertainment obviously, not out to kill us. I've seen travelling Veelas before – that's quite a show. It's a bit like a circus but more…magical."

"As to be expected."

Millicent cast a sidewards look at her friend. "Do you even know what Veelas are?"

"Do _you_ even know what Eastenders is?" Daisy shot back.

"It's Mum's favourite show. We do own a telly you know."

"Well, aren't you special?"

"Of course," Millicent smiled. "Don't you know we half-bloods get the best of both worlds?"

A gust of wind carried away Daisy's grumbling response.

* * *

The dancing skeletons certainly did not disappoint. Daisy kept glancing up at the ceiling, half expecting to see strings guiding them through their song and dance routine. Heads flew over tables and humorous manoeuvres were carried to a song that sounded remarkably similar to '_This is Halloween_' from _The Nightmare Before Christmas_, but their rendition of '_On this Hallow's Eve'_ was a hundred times better than any film because it was _real_. It was one of those moments where it fully hit Daisy that she wasn't just anybody – she was a witch, part of a world where a skeleton flying around the Great Hall on a flock of live bats was _normal_.

"That was amazing," Daisy gushed, finally turning her attention back to the dessert at hand, having been too engrossed in the spectacle to even consider something as trivial as pumpkin pie, however much she had been craving it since the scent wafted down to the dungeons that morning.

"Cheap outdated tricks would amaze you, wouldn't they?" Malfoy scoffed, polishing off his treacle tart. "They're old hat those skeletons - entertainment for the common people. Or people like _you_, who didn't even realise magic existed until a letter arrived."

"You're right, Malfoy. I did find them very entertaining."

"Because you're common or because you're a Mudblood?"

"Neither," she shrugged, confused as to why he was adamant in ruining what had been an excellent Feast so far. Even Zabini was giving it a break for the evening. She got the distinct feeling that Malfoy's feeling of superiority had somehow increased from than last year. "I found them entertaining because that's what they're _for_. You must just to have a rather twisted idea of what entertainment is."

"I think the word you're looking for is refined."

"If that's what you want to call it. Should we ask Marcus what he calls it?"

Malfoy scowled. "That won't be necessary."

By the time the plates were cleared and Dumbledore wished them all a good night, Daisy had forgotten about her little exchange of words with Malfoy. She just wanted to get to bed and savour this troll-free Halloween until well into the morning. Too busy contemplating whether having dinner with the Gryffindors was as acceptable as having brunch with them, she didn't notice that anything was off until someone pushed past her to try and get to the front of the usual post-Feast hallway traffic jam.

If that didn't jerk her out of her reverie then the shout from the front of the crowds certainly did.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware!" It was Malfoy, his grey eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, grinning at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat. "You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

For a moment or two Daisy stood transfixed, her hand still on the arm of the first year Ravenclaw she'd pushed aside as she moved forwards, unable to make the connection between his words and what she was staring at.

…_The Chamber of Secrets_…

Distant memories of a passage from a book swam to the surface of her mind, and with Mrs. Norris' frozen stare looking back at her, everything connected together. Enemies of the Heir…. _of Slytherin_.

"Don't you dare faint, Mudblood."

Daisy was grateful for the arm upon hers that was leading her away from the crowd, thankful for the chill of the dungeons and the cold stone upon which she steadied herself upon was more than welcome. Her robes had grown hot and constricting, and the world was catching up in pace with her thoughts, sending her stomach lurching. Pureblood entertainment was more _refined_ indeed.

"I'm going to be sick," she said weakly, stopping her stagger to the Common Room to try and still the waves of nausea.

"We're so close," Millicent urged, gently easing her friend back into a walk. Daisy didn't even know when Millicent had appeared by her side, or who had even helped her to where she was now. "Just a little bit more. _Sanguis sanctimonia est_. Straighten up a little Daisy, take a deep breath, come on – don't let them win."

No matter how straight Daisy walked, those who had already made their way to the Common Room and were sat discussing that night's turn of events saw her ashen face and her dogged steps – that's if they had not passed her on their way there, only sparing a sneering glance at the resident Mudblood. Who did she think she was anyway? She took the top of the stone steps at a run, barely making it into a toilet stall before she made good on her promise, the last of the Feast leaving her as fast as the last bits of happiness she had from that evening.

"What is the point Millie?" Daisy asked as her best friend passed her some nightclothes to change into. "They'll know I'm scared to death anyway. They know – they know they've won."

"_They_ haven't won anything," Millicent insisted. "This is just what they want, to scare you into thinking you're next, into scaring you enough to pack your bags and never come back. Well, if it didn't work before, there's no reason why it should work now."

"This is completely different - I'm going to _die,_ Millie. If the Chamber of Secrets has been opened, I am going to die. It is a very real possibility. Gigantic probability. Oh God, Millie – I'm too young to die. I can't die. Millie-"

"I'm going to kill you myself if you don't stop being so melodramatic. Breathe Daisy, _breathe_. That's better. Get dressed – and brush your teeth. This will all look better in the morning when you can scribble down one of your plans, and I can laugh at it, and you can ditch me at breakfast to go sit with your cousin. Nothing brings people closer together than a dead cat."

"Why do you never take anything seriously?"

"I take everything seriously Daisy. There are some things, however, that I prefer – you've got that on the wrong way, here let me – that I prefer not to waste my time on." She balled up Daisy's uniform and threw it in the designated laundry basket. "I'll meet you in the dormitory. I'll go and see if I can't get something for your stomach."

Despite no longer wanting to be sick, Daisy still _felt_ sick – at least her toothpaste was an improvement on the taste in her mouth. Her heartbeat was erratic, and as she leant against the cold of the mirror, thankful that her reflection had learnt when to keep quiet, her thoughts whirled viciously around her mind. She should have left him in the Forbidden Forest. No matter what she thought about, the one thought that kept coming back was that she should have let Quirell or the werewolves or whatever lurked in the Forbidden Forest have the blond git. She should have never listened to the Sorting Hat, she should have never kept quiet, she should have never bought into Snape's speech about loyalty to her House. She'd defended them, and for _what_? Everything came back to one unavoidable point; House Slytherin did not want any Muggleborns amongst them, and should one crop up every century or so they were doomed to never graduate.

If it wasn't for the little vials of potions Millicent and Selena coaxed into her system, a wet flannel pressed to her heated forehead, Daisy would have never slept that night.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ What is this? An update? I can only apologise for the delay. Not only am I the most indecisive writer in the world, I am a perfectionist to boot. So I sit there for hours contemplating "What would have to happen here in order for L to die A instead of Z dying at Y?" and then a month later decide no one should die and Voldemort should convert to pacifism. So, yeah… I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

_Thank you for all your wonderful reviews, for following/favouriting, and most of all, for reading. As always, let me know what you think, and if I don't hear from you then I'll (logically) assume you're okay with Voldemort being a punk rocker with flowers in his hair. _


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Things did seem different the morning after, and Daisy might dare to even say _better_, following the Mrs. Norris incident even if it seemed like the entire school could talk of nothing else.

Once again Malfoy had done the Slytherin House no favours by opening his big mouth. Last year he had all but handed over the Gryffindor Seeker on a shiny Goblin-wrought platter, and this year he had drawn attention to something most students did not really think about. If the blonde Slytherin who sometimes showed up at the Gryffindor table was Harry Potter's cousin and Harry Potter had been brought up by his Muggle relatives, then it was more than likely that _she_ was a Muggleborn! If anything happened to Daisy, it was all the proof they needed that this was all down to those rotten, slimy, Dark Arts worshipping Slytherins. How had they not realised that there was a poor, defenceless Muggleborn struggling to survive in a House of Evil until now?

However, even amongst the most partisan anti-Slytherins, there were murmurs of another theory. Slytherins were guilty by birth - this they did not dispute - but the evidence was pointing them in another direction. If Daisy survived, given who had been found at the scene of the crime, it was all the proof they needed that the only person to ever successfully stand up to the darkest wizard of their time had clearly done so by evil means. Their relation would go a long way to explaining the conundrum as to _why_ there was a Muggleborn in Slytherin in the first place. It all made perfect sense – well, it would. It was sad that the Daisy girl would be attacked eventually, because no one really wanted to contemplate that the Saviour of the Wizarding world who they had grown up revering was in fact a Dark Lord in the making.

The close scrutiny of the Slytherin House meant that all hostility had to occur beyond closed doors; the Prefects went as far as to call a meeting in the Common to kindly ask their fellow students to use the word 'Mudblood' with strict moderation as Ponce Weasley had taken to reporting anyone who used the word to Professor McGonagall. There had been some heavy mutterings at this - McGonagall was a low blow. Her fervour for heavy point-taking was only matched by Snape (except that Snape somehow managed to do so without taking from his own House), and this was clearly Weasley's attempt to secure next year's Head Boy position. Malfoy might have killed Daisy when she pointed out it was his calling Hermione a Mudblood that had attracted Percy's attention in the first place if it hadn't been for the surprising murmur of assent in the Common Room.

"It was careless," Pucey conceded, sinking back into the chair he occupied with a seriousness that did not usually cross his features. "We should have seen that the blood traitors would make a big deal out of it - anything to make themselves feel better about their constant betrayal. Probably doesn't help that it was his brother puking up slugs."

"Weasley almost ended up in Slytherin," one of his classmates supplied, hastily explaining as people turned to him, "I overheard him and that Clearwater girl having an 'intimate moment'. He was bragging about how he turned us down because it was the _right_ thing to do."

There was an echo of scoffs, and sneers crossed the faces of most of those gathered. "Merlin, Gryffindors think they're so _noble_."

"Well, he wants what he can't have so be alert," Donahue continued, wanting to wrap this up so he could get back to his NEWT coursework, and he just about needed straight O's to appease his father. Thanks to Higgs, some Hufflepuff was currently wearing _his_ Head Boy badge. "He'll do anything to destroy our chance at keeping the House Cup."

"Not to mention Flint's chance to be Head Boy!" Pucey added, smirking at Marcus' dark look.

"And you, our dear _Muggleborn_," Donahue said, over the quietening chuckles at Pucey's slur, "Do what you do best and stay quiet."

"Stay quiet?" Daisy asked, feigning confusion as Donahue's demand. "Oh, you mean that if someone like Weasley does ask me about how I'm treated here, I'm supposed to keep smiling and say 'Yes, it's wonderful, thank you. They're my Housemates, they would never intentionally _harm_ me', even though some of you have made it clear you pretty much want me dead?"

"No one wants you dead, Dursley," Marcus snapped.

"Speak for yourself," Malfoy said.

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the Common Room, as they waited for a reaction. There had been a few murmurs about the Malfoy progeny; he wasn't much yet, but he was a _Malfoy_ and that meant more than the fact he was still a skinny second year. Their overall success and political power made all the more sense if their blood had been touched by the great Salazar Slytherin. Some wondered if Marcus was going to react; Malfoy was his Seeker, and yet he seemed to have taken some protective liking to Daisy when he saw blatant discrimination. But given that he mostly had his head on the Quidditch pitch, it wasn't hard for him not to notice a lot of things.

Daisy was the first to break the intense stare, turning away from Malfoy and back to the prefects with a smile; toothy, sweet and entirely faked to perfection.

"Anything to help my House, Prefect Donahue. I won't say a thing that will tarnish the good reputation of Slytherin."

"Just shut up, Dursley," Donahue said, before addressing the Common Room for the last time. "So that's it - watch out for Weasley and no sudden questionable moves."

He left the Common Room with one last glare at the second year, looking much too relaxed given the look on Malfoy's face; she was the definition of a pain in the neck. Higgs had fallen for her tactics too easily, and he had backed his former friend much too quickly. If Donahue had only listened to his father, as his father kept telling him, he wouldn't be in this situation, he would have left the Dursley girl well alone. As his father had told him since he was a child, Mudbloods were like mould, a sign of societies decay, and a strand of human fungi so resilient that they were very hard to get rid of without resorting to extreme, specialist measures. Merlin knew, they'd tried hard enough last year to get rid of her. What they really needed was the second coming of You-Know-Who.

* * *

Daisy winced as she made her way up to the Library the next evening, determined despite the burning irritation of whatever it was Malfoy had thrown at her last night. True, it was her own fault for not factoring in the possibility that he might have updated his catalogue of spells, and that this particular one might not be in standard Counter textbooks, or that he might actually retaliate to her snipes that Petrified Golden _Snidgets_ and not cats were the good luck charm of Seekers, _but_ she hadn't expected him to do it when her back was turned. No matter. Once she had a better idea on what the Chamber of Secrets actually was, she would know if she should really be worried, which was why, instead of lying in a bathtub full of cold water, she was looking for-

"Harry."

He and Ron occupied their usual corner table, as far as first years could get from Madam Pince given their place on the Hogwarts food chain – truly hidden tables were already occupied by the older years. The large reference tomes open in front of the two remaining seats indicated that Hermione was off in some dusty section looking for a book she didn't necessarily need.

"Hi, Daisy," Harry greeted, glad for any excuse to take his mind off their Charms homework. "You alright? You didn't seem-"

"I'm fine," Daisy insisted, forcing her face to relax into what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "It's just the end of the week, and I'm a little tired. I was just wondering if I could have the book I gave you for your birthday – I just need to check something."

"I don't have it, sorry."

"What do you mean you don't have it?"

"I mean, I left it at home."

"Why on _Earth_ would you leave one of only five published copies of a book in a house full of magic hating Muggles?" Daisy snapped, drawing the attention of Madam Pince. She lowered her voice to a hiss. "Did you even _read_ it?"

"Never really got round to it. Ended up being rescued didn't I?" The grin he exchanged with his best friend quickly faded as he saw that Daisy was in no mood for their usual joking. "Sorry, I didn't think it was important."

Daisy's previous smile faded, as she leaned forward, face unreadable as fingers grasped the table. "I had to use your name to get it – we didn't speak for _weeks_ because of it – and you didn't think it was _important_? My _birthday present_ to you isn't important? Am _I_ not important to you? Is that it? Do you just not care?"

Harry's eyes widened as tears began to gather at the edge of Daisy's eyes. He wasn't sure what was happening. Objectively, it looked very much like one of Daisy's guilt trips, having seen more than enough of them in his lifetime, but he had never been on the receiving end of one, and being the one causing her face to screw up and -

"Daisy, please don't cry," Harry tried as Daisy swiped fiercely at the corner of her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. "Of course, you're important to me. I'm sorry, Daisy. I'll read it – I'll get it for you – I'll Owl Aunt Petunia and get her to send it but please-"

"What is going on here?" Harry groaned internally as Madam Pince arrived, observing the scene with her usual narrowed-eyed scrutiny. He was expecting to be instantly kicked out as was the norm, but was very surprised when the strict Librarian turned to Daisy with something almost akin to softness. "Miss Dursley, is there anything the matter?"

Daisy shook her head. "I just – I just need a book and – I'm fine, Madam Pince-"

"I believe what you need is the Hospital Wing. You there, accompany-"

"No!" Daisy said, moving away from Madam Pince. "I'm fine. I'm just going to go write a letter to my Mum. I need the book he's left behind and I'm probably just homesick or something."

"Miss Dursley," Madam Pince tried again, but Daisy was already edging away.

"See you around Harry."

"Miss Dursley! Miss Dursley!"

"Should I go after her?" Harry asked, chair scrapping against the floor as he stood up. "What's wrong with her?"

"No, no, you carry on working," Madam Pince dismissed, eyes still narrowed on the double doors. "I'm sure it's nothing Miss Dursley can't handle."

Daisy slowed her steps once she felt at a safe distance from the Librarian or Harry, mentally composed the letter to her mother with her every step, ready to be hastily scribbled on a spare piece of parchment once she reached the Owlery, mostly to keep her mind off the burning sensation that had flared up as she stood talking to Harry. She really hadn't meant to cry. Madam Pince had to have been alarmed by the irritated look of previously white scars covering, gained from the debris of her emotional destruction of Classroom Three to the skids across the stone floors that she had not seen the point of getting seen to by the Matron.

Daisy needed that book before whatever was out for her blood killed her – whether it was Malfoy or even the Bloody Baron – if a poltergeist could cause havoc, why not a ghost with hundreds of years to plot his revenge in case one of _her_ ever sullied his House? She was certain that she had read about the Chambers of Secrets in there, not paying much attention to it but remembering enough to know that she was danger. Maybe it wasn't fatal, but she didn't like the idea of being Petrified either. What if this Heir of Slytherin went for the Mandrakes? All you'd need was a Herbology book and a map, three months and the world's reserve of Mandrakes would be gone. Maybe Millie's Mum could put a reserve in a safe house, maybe-

She reached out a hand and was glad to feel the cold stone supporting her. _Deep breaths, Daisy_, she told herself, _deep breaths_.

The first time this had happened was last year; she'd just come back after Christmas and Higgs had been casting murderous looks at her – it was clear that she wasn't wanted at the Slytherin table, and yet there she was, keeping up her pretence of calculated defiance. She'd barely made it through dinner and closed the bathroom door of their dormitory when her chest finally seized up. Tears streamed down her face, and she didn't care who came in because she couldn't breathe, and she didn't care. Her body fought for breath, and she just lay curled up on the bathroom floor wheezing, crying, secretly hoping she'd eventually run out of breath. Dudley wouldn't have to share a birthday anymore.

Millicent had found her. Millicent had explained to her with an almost motherly calmness what had happened as she sat on the edge of a bathtub, sipping a glass of water. Millicent had explained that it was all the fear she felt, that she ignored, that she pretended she didn't have, taking over her body and that the only way Daisy could fight it, was to take deep breaths, accept them, and let them go. Millicent had looked her in the eyes and told her that if she was planning on lasting until seventh year, she would have to make sure she could handle her fear. It wasn't going to go away, not when she was surrounded by it.

Daisy slid down the stone wall, taking deep shuddering breaths, fighting the tears that threatened to fall and willing the maelstrom in her chest to calm. She had a plan, and once she had a better idea of what the Chamber of Secrets was exactly, she could move forward with said plan. Pulling off her jumper, she reached for a parchment and quill and begun writing to her mother, ignoring the ache in her fingers and allowing the chill of the corridor and the stone to soothe the burning flares in her skin.

_Mudblood_.

* * *

The book arrived during dinner the next day, accompanied with a letter from Nick, regaling her with tales of his boredom at Smeltings and how he was actually looking forward to Sunday lunch at the Dursleys with his parents (it was a shame that she went to a boarding school with term-board, her parents must really hate her), as well as a bottle of Pepto Bismol for future stomach upsets and a demand that her mother be informed if she felt any worse. It was a sign of how close she and Millicent were that the latter would allow herself to be pulled up to the privacy of their dorm without dessert to read the relevant passage as soon as possible.

_The Chamber of Secrets_

_Whilst the hunt for the Chamber of Secrets has been fruitless since the fateful day Slytherin left the fold of his fellow Founders, trumping a long line of Headmasters who attempted to uncover its whereabouts, the existence of such a chamber should not be denied. If it has yet to be found, it can only mean that an heir of Salazar Slytherin has yet to come forward to complete the misguided cause of his ancestor. A terrible creature is said to lay within the bowels of the Chamber, ready to be awakened and unleashed to scourge the halls of Hogwarts of those deemed unworthy of the honour of its schooling. _

_Folklore tells us that the unworthy are those of Muggle birth considered untrustworthy by Slytherin. But what it fails to tell us is that the Chamber was built long after the opening of Hogwarts, after time and circumstances had brought tragedy upon the Founders, most likely at a time when the Master of Snakes had already long chosen to depart. It is history that tells us that those who are selected by the Sorting Hat to join House Slytherin, find Muggleborns unworthy. But what history fails to remind us is that no heir of Slytherin has yet to come forward to assert that what lies within the Chamber is for the purpose of removing Slytherins. _

_It fails to factor in the sociological changes which occurred within the wizarding world that revealed that a Muggleborn's magic is no less potent than a witch or wizard born of a line without the mixing of Muggle blood. While it cannot be denied that there is reason for Muggleborns to be considered untrustworthy, there can be no certainty that centuries later, the Heir will share the same opinion as his ancestor. __Who is to say that the heir of Slytherin will once again look upon the halls of Hogwarts and see the Muggleborns as the unworthy? _

"Wishful thinking," Millicent snorted, as she finished reading the passage. "At least we now know _Hogwarts; A History_ wasn't written by a Pureblood."

"But Filch is a squib – not a Muggleborn," Daisy insisted, taking the book back from Millicent as if more writing might have appeared since she last read it that might confirm or refute her fears. She leant back on her pillows, deep in thought. "What if – like Tomkink suggests – the heir is going to target people who, I don't know, don't take their studies seriously? Or maybe-" She cast a glance around the otherwise empty dormitory, lowering her voice nonetheless, "-the heir might take out the Noble House Purebloods. A lot of them take their place for granted and –"

"Again Daisy, wishful thinking. The Heir is going to be in Slytherin – it would make so little sense for him to be Sorted elsewhere. The Heir of Slytherin in Hufflepuff? Unlikely. Besides, this is all probably a joke. Mrs. Norris isn't even dead, just Petrified."

"It isn't – it can't be. A hoax maybe, but then it's still a cover up for something. If it's not the Heir of Slytherin himself, someone is using it to cover up their real aim. If I can figure out what _that_ is, then-"

"Then what, Daisy? You'll ask them to stop?"

"Then I'll know if I have to be worried or not. You're the one always saying I have to stop thinking the world revolves around me – whoever this Heir is might not even care I exist. They could be trying to get rid of Filch, or scare someone, or-"

"Get rid of you," Millicent finished. "Muggleborns. They've been trying for years – I asked around – well, I asked Mum who asked around. There are only two members on the Board of Governors left to convince that Muggleborns have no place in this school, then Lucius Malfoy will have the majority he needs. He'll tell them it's for your safety, that your existence has incurred the wrath of Slytherin because they've gone as far as to let you into their House, or whatever else he needs to tell them. He has enough power in the Ministry to make sure this goes over Dumbledore's head. And if Dumbledore does fight to to keep you here, then – then they'll start killing instead of Petrifying to make a point."

Daisy flopped back onto her pillows with a sigh, clutching the book to her chest as she stared up pensively. "Guess I can't go up to Lucius Malfoy and ask him to stop trying to get rid of me. I'm also beginning to understand why everyone is scared of him - he's a genius."

"It might not be him," Millicent pointed out, "The Chamber of Secrets could really be open."

"And am I unworthy of being here?"

"I don't know, Daisy. I really don't know. What I do know is that if you die, I'll miss you. I could renounce the Bullstrode name tomorrow, and you wouldn't even flinch. And you've never called me fat."

Daisy rolled her eyes. "Because you're not. Why is it so hard to understand that some people are just big-boned?"

"I also asked Mum to look into private tutoring," Millicent continued, pressing on as Daisy sat up ready to protest, "For the same price as Hogwarts tuition, you can get into some excellent tutor groups, have direct access to the best Mastery clusters and the best job and social networks. Greengrass' younger sister-"

"No, Millie," Daisy cut in, "I'm not going anywhere. I-I refuse to let them get rid of me that easily."

"Just because it isn't easy, doesn't mean it's not possible."

"Will it help to hear that I have a post-mortem plan?"

Millicent sighed. It was hard to stay adamant about being sensible when Daisy was pulling her best puppy dog face, blue eyes as wide and bright as she could make them, and bottom lip pulled out into a pout. "Let's hear it then. "

Standing up, Daisy reached for her latest notebook and her stash of goods, calling out names before throwing them down to her best friend. It had taken them about three weeks to create that secret compartment within the draping of her four-poster, and it was only thanks to the house elves' penchant of fixing things that the sewing looked as flawless as it did.

These were the moments that made it all worth it: sitting cross-legged on her bed with her best friend, consuming untold amount of sugary foods whilst Millicent pointing out the unlikelihood of Minister Fudge showing up to her funeral because there is _no such thing_ as a Muggleborn activist group who would publicly lament her death.

* * *

The day before the Quidditch match, Harry insisted he and Daisy go for a walk, physically dragging her away from her essays, wrapping her scarf around her head for her and leading her out into the windy cold of the Hogwarts grounds. He would hear none of her protests, and he wouldn't ask about the odd scene in the library with Madam Pince and all the crying and the emotions. They caught up on the little tidbits of gossip always floating about a school the size of Hogwarts, usually relating to the Slytherin feud with the rest of the school which tended to randomly land students in the Hospital Wing or in long-term detention, but there wasn't much new to add.

"What's going on Harry?" Daisy asked as they reached the end of their walk around the lake, the late afternoon wind nipping at all exposed skin. "It's cold and it's getting dark. What's the matter?"

She heard him take a steadying breath before he spoke. "I'm not going to catch the Snitch tomorrow."

Daisy stopped. "You what?"

"I can't – nothing can happen to you, not because of me," he said, his hands deep in his pockets, green eyes fixed on a bit of mud he was nudging with his foot. "I kind of want to go home this summer, for one thing, and I need to know I've done all I can to keep you safe. You _are_ important to me, Daisy."

"So you'll willingly lose the match? The opening match? For me?" Daisy was still convinced she was mishearing things. "I would never do that for you, you know."

"But you already did. Last year you saved me from Quirell and when I asked you why, you said it was because we're family. And Slytherin lost because of that. And so, because you're family, Gryffindor will just have to deal with losing. It's just a game."

"You and I both know it isn't just a game."

He smiled slightly at their shared passion. "You're right, but it is just a match. Ravenclaw came out of nowhere to flatten us last year. I'm pretty sure Gryffindor could do the same, and at the same time you'd be safe."

"No," Daisy said after awhile, shaking her head with more speed as she tried to convince herself against the idea. "You can't let them win."

It was his turn to look surprised. "What?"

"They'll have won, Harry - in more ways than one. They'll – they'll realise that all they have to do to get you to lose is to have you worried about my safety, and Malfoy's going to think he can buy his way to anywhere and - and it'll be over. We'll have stopped fighting, and we can't do that. So you have to win. _I _want you to win."

He gave worried glances at the gloved hands that took him by the shoulders, and then back at her determined face; the last thing he had expected a Dursley to ever give him was encouragement, especially not with an enthusiasm that was bordering on Oliver Wood territory.

"You have to go out there, Harry, and show them _why_ you were the youngest Seeker in a century and wipe that smug look of that git's face when you snatch the Snitch from right under his stuck-up nose. You _have_ to win."

Despite the pep talk, Harry still sported a frown. "They might hurt you, Daisy."

"I can run pretty fast you know," Daisy grinned, but it was not returned.

"So could Mrs. Norris."

"Look, if Malfoy catches the Snitch, they'll actually think he's a good Seeker and my chances of ever getting on the team will be gone. _Forever_. Do you want that? Do you want me to sit in the crowds for the rest of my life, because I never got a shot to be a Seeker, because _you_ didn't trust that I'd be fine?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Good, so you catch that Snitch." She hugged her cousin tightly, and smiled into the wool of his cloak when after a defeated sigh, he hugged her back. "Do the family proud, alright?"

"It's all I ever wanted to do."

* * *

Daisy's conviction that a forfeited game was not to her advantage wavered continuously throughout the night and into the morning. She looked worse than the Quidditch players, who despite their bravado were feeling the pressure to reclaim the Quidditch Cup, and were only forcing variations of healthy pre-match breakfasts down their throats under the sharp gaze of their burly Captain whilst he tucked into his porridge without even a worried glance at the Gryffindor table. Daisy ate a couple of bites of toast before pushing them away, saying she wasn't feeling well.

"You do look a little peaky," Selena agreed, leaning past a disgruntled third year to feel Daisy's forehead. "And you feel a little hot. Why don't you go back to bed? Professor Snape will understand your absence."

"I'll be fine," Daisy insisted, catching the underlying message. "I wouldn't miss this match for the world. I'm looking forward to seeing Johnson, Bell and Spinnet look like idiots compared to our boys. With our Chasers, Bletchley and the Boulders this should be a good game."

"Not to mention the new brooms," Nott pointed out.

"Sore spot, Mudblood?" Malfoy asked, as he caught the look withering look she sent in Nott's direction.

"No, actually," Daisy smiled, though her eyes remained cold. "I'm sure it was money well spent on your father's part, Malfoy. And besides, I've always thought highly of the Slytherin Seekers, haven't I?"

"Dursley," Marcus warned. "You're beginning to sound feverish. Bullstrode, pour her some tea or something."

Daisy said no more, accepting the tea gratefully and smiling at the Keeper and the Chasers throwing back and forth the words 'guts' and 'mentally deranged' until the Captain ushered his team and down to the stands. Soon cloaks begun to be donned, scarves wound tightly around necks and Warming Charms applied before trudging down to the match, the sea of red and yellow supporters outweighing the green and silver. Even the Ravenclaws who were technically not under any obligation to attend this match felt the need to, if only to verify their own assumptions on the outcome of Malfoy buying his way onto the team and there was a non-negligible amount of the older years who liked to fund their extra-curricular activities through highly calculated bets.

However, even their predicted allowance for unpredictable elements couldn't have factored in the rogue Bludger that was clearly targeting Harry. Daisy hid her face in her scarf only to emerge moments later to watch wide eyed at Harry's sharp dodges through; she couldn't even manage to cheer with the rest of her House when Marcus scored three goals in quick succession. She couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that bubbled every time the Bludger came close to knocking Harry clean off of his broom – she had wanted him to win, but not to bloody _die_ in order to do so.

"I know this isn't probably the right place to say it," Daisy mumbled as they watched the two teams kick off again, Harry easily distinguishable even in the thickening rain fall as the unfortunate red player having to roll and twist to avoid the persistent black ball pelting towards him, "but why isn't Madam Hooch stopping the game?"

"You're right, this isn't the right place to say it," Millicent hissed, "You and I both know that if they stop the game, they forfeit. And if they forfeit the game, it won't be the victory our team wants to earn. Harry seems to be doing just fine."

"That's not the point I'm making. Someone's clearly tampered- Ow! _Millie_!"

Millicent stowed her wand back in her pocket. "Just watch the stupid game."

Pouting behind her scarf, charmed green for the occasion, Daisy kept her eye on Harry's zigzagging path around the pitch. She wasn't aware of how many points they were up, or who had the Quaffle at any given moment or who the other Bludger was knocking into – she just prayed for Harry to be okay until Malfoy managed to catch the Snitch, because there was no way he could do it, not when he was being reduced to doing pirouettes and sharp dives to avoid the Bludger that was after him. Though perhaps it would have been better if she hadn't been watching him. Then she might have missed the moment the Bludger finally caught up to him.

"Harry!" Even through the silver sheets of rain, she could make out his uncertain moments, and the Bludger was coming straight back. "Move! For the love of all that is good – just move!"

And he did, dodging the Bludger gracelessly. He was clearly hurt, and confused by the looks of it, as he was diving towards a Slytherin player, who by size alone had to be Malfoy. He stopped, and he began to slip forward and then he was falling. One of the Weasley twins was straight down by his side, knocking back the Bludger as it came zooming back to finish him off. Madam Hooch blew her whistle, but it wasn't the usual signal for a forfeited game. It was…

There was a moment of shock as the Slytherin House realised what had transpired. The loud roar from the red and gold stands answered their question; the growl that Marcus let out as he landed on the rain sodden ground was positively primal, going a long way in explaining his long-standing reputation, confirmed it. He didn't care for Snape's speeches about standing tall and together, not when this stupid boy had just jeopardised their Cup dreams once again.

"Someone care to explain to me how we lost that game? Maybe _you_, Malfoy! Maybe you can tell me how you failed to catch a Snitch _sitting on top of your fucking head_! We lost by thirty points – thirty – this game was ours and you went and lost it to someone who just had his arm smashed to pieces! Nevermind the fact Bludger was following him around _the entire fucking game_, how did you not catch the Snitch? What the fucking fuck was that, you inbred, stupid, fucking fuck! Get out of my face!"

"It's always amusing when Flint gets angry," a girl behind them laughed, flicking dark hair over her shoulders. "His vocabulary goes from expletives to grunts in less than two minutes. I wonder if he'll dare treat Malfoy the same way he did Higgs."

"I don't care," her companion replied. "Someone is going to get hurt tonight either way. I'm cold and I have an Arithmancy project due Monday, so if we could gather those whining idiots up, I'm about ready to go."

"You should go," Millicent whispered, stopping her friend's sudden jerk forward as Lockhart appeared by Harry's side. "No, don't go down there. Remember the plan. Daisy! _Go_!"

In a slight haze of disbelief and worry, Daisy manoeuvred her way through the stands and out of the Quidditch Pitch, changing the colour of her scarf to match Gryffindor colours as she moved as quickly as she could, occasionally stumbling and slipping on the muddy grass. Harry had won, Harry was hurt and Malfoy had humiliated himself in front of everyone – weeks of bragging come undone in a mere couple of hours, the Snitch snatched right from under his nose as she had wanted. So why did she feel so sick?

Madam Pomfrey was in the middle of preparing the usual post-Quidditch beds and potions when Daisy stumbled through the Hospital Wing doors, feeling all types of symptoms she couldn't pinpoint. Could it be that Marcus had gone the whole hog and actually poisoned her? Millicent would know how, and Daisy never questioned anything her best friend gave her, from buttered toast to the cup of tea she'd been given at Marcus' request at the breakfast table.

"I'm not feeling too good," Daisy announced, tugging at the clasp of her cloak, wanting to be rid of the heavy, hot weight. "I haven't all morning, but I wanted to go to the match and…"

"Of course," Madam Pomfrey sighed, helping her shed her outerwear and shoes and onto a bed. "You went to the match and pushed yourself too hard when you should have been resting. Change into these, some bed rest will do you wonders."

Grateful not to have to give any more explanations, Daisy changed out of her clothes and into the warm cotton pyjamas offered and got under the covers. Her eyes were already beginning to droop even though her mind wanted to stay awake so that she could make sure that Harry was okay – they'd be bringing him up soon, right?

"You're the second-year Slytherin with the upset stomach, aren't you?"

She nodded.

"Slytherin lost the game, didn't they?"

Again she nodded, her head growing heavy against the pillows. She could have probably fallen asleep without whatever it was that Madam Pomfrey tipped down her throat and helped her swallow, but she wasn't sure if she'd been able to stop the general sense of foreboding that recently had her waking up in sweats at all hours of the morning.

* * *

The Hospital Wing was dark when Daisy awoke, the only light coming from low-lit candles flickering above the occupied beds. She lay staring at the ceiling before deciding that she wasn't going to fall back to sleep any time soon; now would be a perfect time to see how Harry was doing. If it was commonly thought that people looked at their most peaceful when they were asleep, Daisy wasn't sure if that held true for Harry: his face was warped into a grimace, jaw clenched against whatever pain he was in. Or nightmare, she added to herself. She sometimes forgot that Harry was capable of doing normal things like be terrorised in his sleep, because she had always equated nightmares with padding to her parents' room and receiving a glass of warm milk and chocolate digestives to chase them away. Well, before everything changed, that is.

She took a seat in the chair next his bed, pretty sure that Madam Pomfrey wouldn't mind as long as she didn't disturb him. For awhile Daisy just watched him sleep. Even if her mother could never understand the merits of a sport involving flying brooms, Daisy could readily admit he had at least done her proud. Malfoy had been proven to be a joke against him, just like his predecessor – Harry had swallowed the Snitch on Higgs' watch and now, he'd snatched it from right under Malfoy's nose whilst being chased by a rogue Bludger. Daisy would challenge Malfoy's position easily next year. That's if she was still here next year. Keen to wave away those particular thoughts, she turned to his bedside table. Out of curiosity she reached for the large bottle upon it, examining the label curiously.

'_Skele-Gro: For all your bone-growing needs_.' Why did Harry need to grow bones? Surely being hit by a Bludger would only mean that they had to be mended, not re-grown? So engrossed with trying to read the side-effects under poor lighting, she almost dropped the bottle at the loud crack that filled the room. It was lucky that her scream caught in her throat, because she would have screamed bloody murder at the sight bulging green eyes the size of tennis that were currently staring at her. It wasn't so much the eyes that scared her, but more that they belonged to a creature with droopy bat-like ears of the likes she'd never seen before.

Fortunately, the crack had woken Harry up, and as he pushed himself up awkwardly, reaching for his glasses, he seemed to recognise the thing in the dirty pillowcase. "_Dobby_! Dobby, what are you doing here?"

"Harry Potter came back to school. Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter not to come back and Harry Potter did not heed his warning," the creature whispered quite miserably. "Dobby warned Harry Potter that he and his Daisy was in trouble, but Harry Potter did not listen!"

"What is he talking about?" Daisy asked, uncaring that Harry jumped at her sudden demand, not having had time to notice her presence. "What did he tell you? Is this – is this what a house elf looks like?"

"Dobby is warning Harry Potter that you and him is going to be in mortal danger if you come back to Hogwarts, miss. That he is being too great, too good to lose. But Harry Potter is not only brave and valiant, but Harry Potter is also very stubborn and does not know when to go home, even when he missed train!"

"Hold on- how did you know that I missed the train?" Harry asked, just as Daisy turned to Harry.

"He _warned_ you that this was going to happen?"

"He just kept saying that we couldn't go back to Hogwarts – he – I don't know, it just seemed like a hoax and when I tried to tell you, you didn't seem to take me seriously either so I –" In his hasty explanation to his cousin, Harry turned back to the elf as realisation hit him. "It was _you_! You stopped the barrier letting us through!"

"Indeed, yes, sir," Dobby said, nodding vigorously. "Dobby did not get there in time to stop Harry Potter's Daisy but he did wait for Harry Potter and sealed the barrier and Dobby had to iron his fingers but Harry Potter was safe and that was all that mattered-"

"And what am I?" Daisy interrupted, confused about the whole situation, and yet understanding that she had reason to be angry. "Does it not matter if I get hurt?"

"It would be sad, miss, but Harry Potter's Daisy is not Harry Potter! Harry Potter means so much to us house elves, to us the enslaved, the dregs of the magical world! Harry Potter is he who defeated He Who Must Not Be Named, and life was made better for my kind. Though Dobby still got a flogging when he learned that Harry Potter had somehow made it back to school, it was nothing like what it was at the height of He Who Must Not Be Named power – Harry Potter is important!"

"So important that you'd get me and Ron expelled?" Harry asked.

"So important that Dobby would do anything to make sure that Harry Potter is safe! But Dobby is not trying hard enough. Not even Dobby's Bludger-"

"Your Bludger? You made that Bludger try and _kill_ me?"

"Not kill you, sir, never kill you! Dobby only wanted to grievously injure Harry Potter enough for him to be sent home!" Tears of frustration were streaming down the elf's face as it was clear that he wasn't making himself heard by the two indignant teenagers sat staring at him with a series of very mixed emotions. "Please, miss, you must take Harry Potter and go home! Terrible things are to happen at Hogwarts, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more-"

Daisy could only stare open-mouthed at the elf. Not only because he had just grabbed Harry's water jug and cracked it over his head, but because he had confirmed the opening of Chamber of Secrets. But not only that, but that it had been open once _more_. And from what she could gather from what Harry was desperately trying to glean from the house elf was that it was important than Harry was saved even if the Muggleborns were not.

"Harry Potter must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not –"

Dobby suddenly froze; there were footsteps coming down the hallway. Knowing she wouldn't have enough time to run back to her bed, Daisy jumped onto Harry's instead, occupying the space that Dobby had occupied only moments ago before he disappeared with the same loud crack. If she sat at the very end of the bed, the partially drawn curtains would hide her from view unless, of course, they were coming to see Harry.

Daisy held her breath, head filling with excuses until she heard the footsteps walk past Harry's bed. There was an exchange of urgent whispers behind her but she couldn't identify the whispers by voice alone. She guessed that the third set of footsteps belonged to Madam Pomfrey, the fact confirmed by her whispered inquiry as to what had happened.

"Another attack," was the answer. "Minerva found him on the stairs."

"There was a bunch of grapes next to him," McGonagall said. "We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter."

Harry and Daisy exchanged silent looks wondering who they could possibly be talking about. For Harry's sake, Daisy hoped that it wasn't Ron. If there was any point in the ginger's life where his general lack of consideration for anything might come in use, this was it.

"Petrified?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

It was McGonagall who replied. "Yes, but I shudder to think… If Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate, who knows what might have… Poor Colin…"

Though this name meant very little to Daisy, only something she might have heard in passing, Harry's face showed pained recognition. A Gryffindor then, but not in Harry's year. An image of a blond boy with a camera swam to Daisy's mind, confirmed by McGonagall's next question. "You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?"

They smelt the answer before they could hear it from Madam Pomfrey's gasp. Though the conversation seemed to be taking place about three beds away, the was the unmistakeable smell of melted plastic was strong enough to send Daisy's already sensitive stomach churning. Whatever had attacked Colin – Colin _Creevey_, her mind kindly supplied – had melted the film in his camera pretty good.

"But what does this mean Albus?" McGonagall asked the Headmaster urgently.

"It means," Dumbledore said, his words heavy in the silence of the Hospital Wing, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."

Daisy did not hear whatever was said next. Blood was pumping loudly in her ears to match her heartbeat, the temperature of the room spiking suddenly, her palms and everything touching anything on her body suddenly growing terribly clammy as her thoughts grew foggy and confusing.

Three different sources had now proclaimed the Chamber of Secrets open. Malfoy…Dobby… and now, Dumbledore… _Mudbloods beware_… Harry had known, because Dobby had warned him but _Harry Potter is important_… Was Colin Creevey a Muggleborn? Part of her said maybe not, but she knew the answer…_ the question is how_…

With Daisy's stomach already calmed by the potions, her body did the next best thing. She fainted.

* * *

When Daisy came to, Harry and Millicent were sat by her bedside, wearing matching grave looks.

Harry had been mulling over the idea of joking about her brilliant attempt at being inconspicuous, but the gravity of the situation had settled as a massive lump in the back of his throat, growing in size as he'd watched them levitate her body back to her own bed until he had to mentally force each bite of breakfast down his throat. Harry hadn't liked the look on Dumbledore's face at all. Nor the lack of reassurances. It was only Millicent's bloodshot eyes that stopped Daisy from demanding what in the hell she and Flint had put in her tea.

"You look better than I feel," Daisy said to Harry as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"Madam Pomfrey cleared me to go," Harry said, flexing his fingers at Daisy to support his point. "I just wanted to make sure you were feeling better before I left after – you know, last night."

"I must have just ingested something really dodgy at breakfast. What happened to you yesterday, anyway? Apart from that brilliant catch."

"Doctor Lockhart happened. He spelled the bones in my arm away in an attempt to fix them."

"Healer," Millicent corrected, more out of habit than anything, as her teeth worried her bottom lip. Harry gave her a confused look. "Magical doctors are called healers, Potter."

"Oh, right - thanks. I'll…remember that."

"Why don't you go find Hermione and Ron?" Daisy suggested as they fell into a silence, and she wasn't a fan of weighing silence. "I'm fine now, just a little groggy, and besides Millie's here. She can look after me. Enough Hospital Wing for the night, right? And I bet you've got some celebrating to do. You won."

"I sure did," Harry smiled back, taking hold of Daisy's hand. "Are you sure? I can stay if you want."

"Certain."

The door had barely closed behind him when Millicent pounced. "You're leaving."

Daisy rolled her eyes. "Millie, for the last time, I'm not going anywhere."

"Daisy-"

"Look, I am one of Slytherin's worthy," she insisted. "I am safe."

Millicent snorted. "You're the Slytherin Mudblood, and you will be next."

"Don't call me that – not like that – not like you mean it."

"I'll call you whatever I have to if it'll make you see sense!" Millicent snapped. "I know you well enough to know you don't believe in any of the crap you say. You put on this front Daisy, but we're friends and I know you. I know that you're scared, terrified even, and you'd do anything to go home."

"Would you just drop it? I'm not even the target, so why would I leave?"

"What are you on about, you daft cow? Malfoy is _furious_."

"And so he attacks Creevey?"

Madam Pomfrey's arrival put a momentary pause on the girls' conversation. An angry hush settled between them as the Matron performed her check, before leaving a breakfast tray, or rather brunch now, and going back to her office. Daisy tried a spoonful of porridge before pushing the tray aside.

"Aren't you going to eat that?" Millicent asked impatiently.

"I don't have the stomach for it," Daisy dismissed. "As I was saying, Colin Creevey was attacked last night and _he_ didn't do anything to anger Malfoy, so it can't be him."

"Yes but Creevey stalks Harry doesn't he? If he was on the way here, then maybe the monster was on the way here too - Malfoy knew you were here. Or it's a _warning_, Daisy, from Malfoy or whoever is controlling the monster: get out while you can."

"And I'm telling you, I'm _not_ the target. I'm more like – collateral damage."

"If you're not the target, then who is?"

"Someone much more important than me," Daisy replied through gritted teeth. "Millie, I'm not going anywhere, so stop looking at me like that. I'll be fine, you'll be fine and we'll all be fine."

"Except the target."

"You'd be surprised how incredibly lucky the target is. I'm sure he'll be fine too."


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

In the days that followed Colin Creevey's attack, it was fair to say that Daisy was quiet. Discussions surrounding the Chamber of Secrets and speculation of who the Heir's next victim could be spread throughout the halls without seeming end. Students huddled together as they walked through corridors and a black market of protection talisman sprung up in every corner of the school – the upper year Slytherins were particularly skilled in convincing the more naïve members of other Houses than only _their_ type of talismans and Potions could protect them from danger. They were quick to discover that most Slytherin forms of protection tended to have some rather nasty side effects, often involving itching, scratching and sores. The unlucky victims brave enough to attempt to get their money back were told that the Hospital Wing was most probably the safest place in the school, so really, they had gotten their Sickle's worth.

Daisy noted that no Slytherin offered _her_ anything in way of protection. She noted everything these days actually – quite literally. There was hardly a moment where she wasn't furiously scribbling something onto a spare piece of parchment or into her leather bound notebook. This was really the only reason for her quiet, even if others saw it as an attempt to keep a low profile. If there was anyone who should be scared, it was the Slytherin Mudblood. They were wrong. It was just that she couldn't listen to conversation around her if she was too busy contributing to it, couldn't watch people's interactions with others if she was taking their attention and she couldn't make plans to guarantee her existence in the future if she was too worried about what was going on in her present. Though she would never admit it, she had a certain appreciation for Zabini's general approach to life.

"Your food is going cold," Millicent reminded her gently Thursday evening, as dessert approached and Daisy still hadn't touched her shepherd's pie. She had been about to, when she suddenly stopped and reached for a scrap piece of paper and a pencil she kept within her robe pockets.

"What're you always writing anyway?" Nott asked from what was becoming his usual seating within the lower year sphere of the Slytherin table – opposite Daisy who was sat next to Millicent across from whom sat Zabini, forming their curious, burgeoning quartet. Zabini's intentions were on a to-do list in a notebook she had finished the previous day.

"Her last will and testament, I should assume," Malfoy offered from Blaise's side.

"You're right actually," Daisy smiled, as she tucked away the parchment in her robe pockets. "I've also been trying to remember every single thing that has happened to me since I was Sorted into the lovely, welcoming House Slytherin. My arrangements include everything I've written being revealed to the public. I'm hoping for front-page of a struggling publication because apparently then I'll have more chance of them agreeing. Nothing to lose if you're already losing, right?"

Malfoy's smirk wavered. "You're joking."

Daisy shrugged. "Maybe. The only way to find out is to kill me. But if you kill me, whatever I've written, will be revealed. Pretty big risk - because who's going to say that a dead girl who was in such fear for her life she even made arrangements for her death was lying?"

Zabini bore the same look he'd had on his face during the now infamous Malfoy-Lockhart Incident: utter fascination, as his eyes moved from Daisy's calm countenance to the light pallor in Malfoy's face, easily perceptible to him because he was an expert on bringing out in him, and then back again. He could definitely use that food that Millicent liked to reference when she was observing something particularly fascinating – popped corn, was it?

"Sucks to be Higgs, then," Nott commented, saving Malfoy from having to find a comeback.

"Oh, I didn't say everything is true," Daisy corrected, twisting her plate clockwise to warm up her food. "Most of it is true, but some of it, just rumours floating about. There's no way to check I'm lying if I'm dead."

"But there are truth potions to check if the person who's alive is telling the truth," Malfoy countered.

"Funny thing is about truth potions – the reliable ones, like Veritaserum I think it's called – is that once you've drunk it, you'll answer any question they asked you truthfully. Now let's imagine the objective witness – or even a loyal family friend – decides that you might have information he wants, information that he's sure you'll have on your family. What's going to happen?" Daisy ate a mouthful of her shepherd's pie, given Malfoy a chance to answer, but he seemed content to let her do the talking. "Well, you'll spill before anyone can stop you, and then _he'll_ have that information. And the only way to stop it getting out, is to kill him. Or Obliviate him, I guess, but my reading tells me that memory spells always leave behind some sort of a trace and they can always be undone by someone determined enough to find the secrets. So by killing me, you've just betrayed your family. Or killed a man."

Malfoy's jaw was clenched as he held Daisy's unwavering gaze, the grip on their respective cutlery as tight as one another. "I'm not going to kill you."

"That's very kind of you, Malfoy."

"You're actually insane, you know that?" Nott offered, as he watched Daisy turn to her food. He was beginning to wonder if his best friend's sudden interest in the two girls hadn't been to do with Millicent, as he'd originally suspected, but with the Mudblood herself.

"I'd imagine insanity is a natural state when Pucey greets you every morning with a rundown of all the betting pools surrounding your imminent attack," Millicent noted dryly, glad that she'd finished her own dinner. Conversations like these always threatened her appetite. "Or which Muggleborn you're currently outranking."

"Granger overtook her in the Ravenclaw pools," a fourth year supplied. A tint of colour appeared in his cheeks when the look Millicent and Daisy gave him were hardly that of thanks. "It only happened after lunch. I thought you might appreciate the information."

"Well? Aren't you going to write that down?" Zabini asked, watching Daisy turn away from the fourth year with practised indifference.

"Already noted," she dismissed, her eyes involuntarily falling to the next table over. "The Ravenclaws are using Arithmancy - I'm trusting their probabilities the most, even if they are a bit tactless. One of them actually asked me if I could fill out a questionnaire."

"Once you start using Arithmancy, you might as well use Divination," Millicent commented with disdain, "You never know - you might actually see the answers written in the stars. While you're at it, why don't you start reading your horoscopes too? That's a _sensible_ approach to all of this."

Daisy winced at Millicent's tone. Since Sunday morning, the usual stoic, indifferent Slytherin had been rather snappish with her, and unpredictably so. There were times when they could joke about everything, even going as far as to ponder about the bodily functions of a Petrified person, but there were other times when Millicent got this dark look on her face, like she wanted to kill Daisy herself for even suggesting she was going to die and on top of that refusing to just leave.

"The Gryffindors are relying on the Weasley twins," Daisy offered. "That has to be some sort of Divination."

"A very selective branch, in that case. Apparently anyone who refuses to buy their stupid Zonko knock-offs is going to suffer a horrible and gruesome death."

"Yeah but, it's usually at the hands of Professor Snape. And we've yet to see any evidence that his glare does anything beyond crippling any confidence you had in your ability to do anything ever."

"You should fail Potions, test that theory," Millicent suggested.

"Surely, my dear Bullstrode, he would have had me expelled when I destroyed his classroom last year? We're clearly looking for something who actually cares about my existence enough to go to the trouble of trying to get rid of me."

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Malfoy asked suddenly. His question had been a little louder than perhaps he intended, grabbing the attention of Slytherins. He himself has been inadvertently drawn back into the conversation, despite his attempts to pay attention to Crabbe and Goyle making Yule plans. "You're sitting there calmly discussing your own death. Who does that? It's not – it's not something you do - it's not the weather! Shouldn't you already have packed your bags? Shouldn't you be crying? Shouldn't you be worried?"

"Why should I be?" Daisy asked, something akin to genuine confusion crossing her features. "You just said you're not going to kill me. And you even sound a little concerned so... So I'm going to assume I'm safe. Well, as safe as can be when you're still using me as a practise target for your spells."

"That is – how can –" Malfoy took a moment to steady himself so that his voice could regain its usual, arrogant, slow drawl. "The assumption you're making, you stupid, idiotic, Mudblood, is that I'm the Heir of Slytherin."

"What? Where did you get _that_ idea from?" Daisy had to stop herself from laughing at the look on Malfoy's face. Confusion was an expression that Crabbe sported well with his square face and bristle hair – on Malfoy, with his pointed face, and white blonde hair, he reminded Daisy of a lost lamb. "I thought you might try and kill me because when Marcus said no one wanted to kill me, you gave off this vibe like you might want to kill me. I was just double-checking."

"And what about the Heir of Slytherin?"

"What about him? The wall said enemies of the Heir beware," Daisy replied. "Now _you're_ the one making the assumption. How do you know I'm an enemy of the Heir? I really don't think I am."

"You are! Salazar Slytherin hated-"

"Yes, Malfoy – Salazar Slytherin thought Muggleborns were untrustworthy, disgusting and the scum of the earth, and didn't want to teach them, and sacrificed his career rather than be forced to spend another minute in our presence," Daisy retorted. "But Salazar Slytherin is dead, so what his _Heir_ chooses to do, is entirely up to him. You have to ask yourself how did _I_ of all people end up in Slytherin?"

Malfoy's pallor was now perceptible to all as he swallowed nervously, racking his brain for an answer. "You tricked the Hat."

"The one that himself Slytherin helped make? Makes sense. What cake is that, Millicent? Pear tart?"

"Upside down cake with pear and caramel," Millicent answered, "but don't bring my cake into this. I have been waiting for this to reappear for a fortnight, and I'd like to enjoy it without Malfoy staring in our general direction like you just told him you're the Heir of Slytherin or something equally ridiculous."

"Stop it, you two," Zabini admonished, as he helped himself to some lemon meringue, "You're making Theodore nervous, and I would like to enjoy _my_ dessert without _his_ stress symptoms."

"Why's Nott stressed?" Daisy asked, turning her attention to the dark-haired boy in question. His neck was indeed beginning to look a little red. "You've only ever been horribly mean to me. I promise if you keep it at this level, I'm not going to write about it."

"I thought you weren't going to die," Nott said.

"So did I, but – but – have you seen Malfoy's _face_?"

Unable to control herself Daisy burst into laughter. Beside her Millicent couldn't stop the smile that appeared on her face, and Zabini looked highly amused. Nott rubbed his neck a little, hoping it would ease the discomfort; even if it didn't seem like he should be worried, he was still very confused. Malfoy had gone very still, jaw clenched and grey eyes fixed on the laughing girl. He understood very well what had just happened – she had just humiliated him.

"I hate you," Malfoy informed her. "I really hate you."

"Oh, Malfoy," Daisy sighed, wiping away the tears of laughter, "not as much as I hate you."

* * *

Daisy's behaviour was beginning to set the Slytherin's on edge, certainly not helped by the fact that jinxing her into telling them what she was up to or what she knew was no longer a risk-free option. Not only were all the other Houses keeping an eye on her general wellbeing, there was that nagging worry that she was actually keeping a diary of everything that happened. Parkinson, Greengrass and Davis weren't particularly happy that they were getting the blame for not knowing where the crazy Mudblood would put her notebooks, and Selena had already threatened the other female Prefects with dire consequences if any of them dared go into the second year dormitory without actual reason. The Gryffindor prefect's increased prowling around the dungeons wasn't helping matters either; the Prefect rota indicated the Ponce had claimed all the rounds in the vicinity he could get his hands on. Did he not have schoolwork to be doing? A girlfriend? A _life_?

Harry had apologised about Dobby, so luckily Millicent didn't have to sit through another three-week family feud. Instead she had to sit through Daisy's interesting take on what she thought survival was; the increased frequency of with which the Malfoy's unpleasant Eagle Owl was gracing the Slytherin table was apparently not a cause for concern, which was very strange for someone claiming to want to remain at a school where Malfoy Sr. was a Governor.

Millicent might have been able to enjoy the developing Malfoy-Dursley feud, if she wasn't growing curious about Daisy's secrecy. Soon she might even begin to worry. The only mail the blonde still opened at the Slytherin table were letters from her mother – for everything else Daisy waited until she was upstairs in the dormitory, and even then Millicent got the feeling she wasn't sharing everything, not like before. So when she noticed an exception to the rule, she took the opportunity.

Daisy had received three correspondences that morning. One was the usual care package from her mother, another a letter tucked in a Muggle envelope and the last a neatly wrapped package bearing an insignia that Millicent couldn't work out whilst remaining inconspicuous. What struck her was that Daisy didn't go for the care package first – she went for the letter. A letter that apparently did not please her. Even if she didn't look particularly disgruntled, she shoved it aside as if its content had proved useless before opening whatever her mother had sent her.

As Daisy found herself in a recurring debate with Parkinson about the legality of bringing Muggle foods to a wizarding school, especially into House Slytherin, Millicent tried to make out the contents of the letter. Whoever had written it either had worse handwriting than Theo, or it had been written by a nine year old who had yet to get the hang of cursive writing.

_- milkman too and Gran was a social worker. Dad's side of the family was milkman since forever so I don't think they are magical. Mum said that Colin was the first she'd heard of. Hope that helps._

_Is Colin OK? I usually get owls from him on Wensday but-_

Millicent didn't get to read anymore because Daisy snatched up the letter, shoving it in her book bag. She at least, had the sense not to glare, but could not manage to look sheepish at being caught.

"Daisy, what was that?"

"I just had to be sure that he really was a Muggleborn," Daisy dismissed, keeping her voice low.

"So you wrote to his family? They don't even know he's been attacked from the looks of it!"

"He'll be fine once the Mandrakes are grown. Then he'll let them know himself."

"What's that then?" Millicent asked, knowing it was futile arguing with Daisy when she was convinced she was right.

"Care package from Mum."

"I know what your care packages look like by now, Daisy. I meant the thing with the family crest. The one that says Margarine on it."

"Marguerite," Daisy corrected, moving the package a little so Millicent could make out the name better. "From my friends in France. There was a book I needed, and it's not that widely available in England."

Millicent traced her finger over the embedding, over the two dragons facing inwards and the intertwined snakes above the large M in the shield. It wasn't that she didn't believe Daisy's stories, but seeing the evidence of her acquaintances was different. Zabini too was apparently a sceptic, given the way he leaned over to look at it.

"I'm fairly certain that's the Malfoy crest."

"Let me see," Malfoy demanded. Daisy handed over the package, watching for Malfoy's reactions as always. He had the same reaction as Millicent, tracing his finger across the crest as if to be sure. She didn't miss the fact that their gaze didn't even meet as he passed it back. "You're wrong, Zabini. That's not the Malfoy crest."

Goyle, who had been looking over his shoulder didn't look convinced. "Are you sure? It looked like-"

"Shut up. I would know my own family crest, wouldn't I?"

"Yes, Malfoy," Daisy smiled. "You certainly would."

"What are you up to?" Millicent demanded as they made their way to Transfiguration, the mystery package tucked protectively under her arm. "Why didn't you just outright say that you know the Malfoi? What's with all this mystery?"

"I have a plan," Daisy answered smugly. "And it's already working pretty well, don't you think? Noticed how everyone in Slytherin is giving me these looks? Like they want to get rid of me, but they're not quite sure if it's the right thing to do? They've always said that the Sorting Hat wouldn't put a Muggleborn in Slytherin, so if I can just throw some doubt…"

"Please don't tell me you're trying to convince them you're a Malfoy."

"How would that even work? I was swapped at birth? I'm actually adopted? Mum's Lucius Malfoy's Squib sister?" Daisy stopped in her tracks. "Actually - maybe that could work."

"No – no, it couldn't," Millicent sighed, pushing Daisy to carry on walking. "You can't fake the results of a blood test. Not in the magical world."

"Would the Malfoys really dignify that claim by asking for a blood test? They'd just deny it."

"And then kill you."

"They wouldn't kill me," Daisy dismissed, as she mulled this over. "Not only would it look pretty suspicious, it's a pretty big risk to take without knowing what'll happen if they do so. Maybe they'd give me money…"

"You know what, I think it might work as well," Millicent said, "There'd be no need to fake the unbelievable Malfoy _arrogance_!"

"Fine, fine! So they _might_ kill me. That's not what I was planning anyway."

"Do I even want to know?"

Daisy grinned. "You'll see soon enough."

* * *

Thankfully, the wait didn't last much longer.

The next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, Daisy arrived just as Lockhart was about to shut the door, her book bag looking heavier than their one copy of _Magical Me_ he'd asked them to bring so that they could do a thorough recap of his personal exploits thus far in preparation for a project due the last week of term. They would be all expected to present an aspect that they admired from Lockhart's biography, using his other tomes as cross-reference. Millicent watched as Daisy extracted one large tome from her bag and placed it on the desk; this had to be whatever her Malfoi correspondent had sent her.

"Right, then does everyone have their copies of _Magical Me_?" Lockhart started, "Excellent! Make sure to take notes – I'll be giving you little pointers and anecdotes throughout today's lesson not featured in the book. Some haven't even made it to _Witch Weekly's_ 'Lovely Lockhart' feature they do every year on my birthday."

So far into the term, even the Gryffindor boys had lost their ability to roll their eyes at Lockhart or at the eagerness with which some of their female counterparts still devoured his every word. He wasn't _that_ good looking. Malfoy sometimes spiced up the lessons by being provoked into an argument by bringing up the letter or the slugs, but that always came later, and usually when they were supposed to be reading. Never at the start of class when Lockhart stood there and just talked and talked and talked.

"-after the success of _Holiday with Hags_, everybody in the wizarding world was just dying to find out about the young man who not only had such a fine knack of dealing with creatures even the best members of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had trouble with, but could help every house witch in the country with her household pests! And of course there was my smile. Thus, the fine tome you hold in your hands, carry in your bookbag, and tuck under your pillows at night, was born. _Magical Me_ was – yes, Miss Dursley?"

Everyone turned around to look at her. Very few people ever asked questions in class, and never was the student from the green and silver side of the classroom. "I was wondering, Professor, why there was such a gap between _Holiday with Hags_ and _Magical Me_?"

"Why - I had no intention of writing again after _Holiday with Hags_. It was a fulfilling experience, but the tragedy of the Elders was so emotionally depleting and magically crippling… I saved the Colony but them, I just…" Lockhart sighed dramatically, a practised forlorn look crossing his features, hand coming up to his eyes to hold back the tears _so_ dangerously close to falling. "I – I just wanted to come home, and settle down to a nice normal life, find a nice witch and raise a family and so on and so forth. But alas, the public was so adoring, so demanding! They practically begged me to return – how could I go into retirement when I was still a young, handsome man? Fan letters and pleas in the Daily Prophet, the full works! And as you know by now, I give the public what they want."

"So, it had nothing to do with the fact that there were accusations that it was in fact the known adventurer Gordon Gourdonston who had done all the things you say you did in _Holiday with Hags_?"

Lockhart's award-winning smile wavered. "I'm afraid Miss Dursley, that I have no idea what you are talking about. Now, moving on with the class-"

"But, Professor, I'm so confused," Daisy insisted, ignoring the prickles of heat at the back of her neck as Lockhart narrowed his eyes at her interruption, "See, I came across this book, _Defrauding the Fraud_ by Alexander Gribbs, and _he_ says that he proved that everything you said you did up to the _Holiday with Hags_ is just lies. And the funny thing is, when you were all emotionally and magically depleted, you were in court, right sir?"

"Next to the emotional loss of members of a community that had come to see me as their own, a trial against a delusional stalker meant very little. But that is beside the point. Now as I was _saying_-"

"So it's _not_ true that all of the medical achievements described in your books were due not to your prowess but your stupidity? He says that in _Break with a Banshee_, local shaman and healers apparently had to work miracles to reverse the damage that you did, Professor."

"Of course it isn't," Lockhart snapped, a very odd tone for the Professor, "You should know that I won that trial, Miss Dursley. I was proven right, so I would appreciate you dropping these silly, irrelevant accusations!"

"Of course, I'm sorry, sir. I was just confused. Just like I'm a little confused about some of your more recent spell work. Is not true you're _technically_ not allowed to use any other spell than those clearly outlined in your agreement when you accepted the honourable invitation of the Dark Force Defence League?" Daisy asked. She waited expectantly, but Lockhart seemed to be having a seizure, given the rigidity of his usual casual lean against his desk and the slight twitch in his eye. "The Defence Association _did_ present you with guidelines in keeping with your skill and area of expertise, right sir?"

Lockhart frowned, unable to understand this change of direction. "What are you getting at, Miss Dursley? I have a lesson-"

"I know, Professor, but I just want to make sure that my presentation is perfectly accurate. Like when you stopped Malfoy from puking up slugs, what spell did you use?"

"I…"

"I guess it doesn't matter," Daisy pressed on, "I think hexes can be filed under dark spells and so you can use any spell to reverse it, right? What about the spell you used on my cousin? Harry Potter – if you didn't know. When he got hit by a Bludger and broke a few bones? Now, I might be wrong, but you _Vanished_ his bones, didn't you? And I don't think that's a spell you're allowed to use, Professor."

"Aha! Exactly! _Professor_!" Lockhart seemed happy to have finally found the loophole in her accusations that he was waiting for. "I am here at Hogwarts as teacher, and I was helping a student. Healing a student when he is hurt is in my job description. The weather merely-"

"Yes, of course, sir, your spells are affected by the climate because of your encounters in Ouagadougou," Daisy nodded emphatically. She'd agreed to fill in a Ravenclaw questionnaire only if they answered questions about their NEWT class with Lockhart, and apparently that was his excuse for not being able to demonstrate – well, anything. "However, in the trial that you won, you agreed not to practise any sort of healing on a person as long as Gribbs never set foot in Britain again. Isn't that right, Professor?"

"Again, Miss Dursley," Lockhart said slowly, resisting the urge to grit his perfect, straight teeth, "I fail to see the relevance of your _lies_."

"The point I am making, sir, is that you had no right to even point your wand at Harry. You're not a qualified anything! You could have seriously hurt him, maimed him even. And can you even begin to envisage the repercussions of hurting an heir?"

"An heir?"

A heavy silence fell over the classroom as they considered the implications, waiting for clarification that she was saying what they thought she was saying. Harry looked like he'd been hit round the face with a copy of _Magical Me_. Millicent mentally asked an assortment of higher powers including Merlin, Fate and God what they were thinking when they gave Daisy the ability to even think that this was a _normal_ course of action.

"Of course," Daisy said, "The heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter. He's the last of the Potters. You go on about the importance of bloodlines in Chapter 6 of _Voyaging With Vampires_ because Ellis was the last of his line when he was turned. Which is why he hired you as his bodyguard. Ring any bells, Professor? Terrible memory given that Gribbs says that you are a specialist of Memory Charms…"

"That man is a liar and a fraud!" Lockhart fumed, "He was convicted of such!"

"Really? But Professor, that's not the story he tells." Daisy made a great show of opening the book, and flipping to the bookmarked page. "It says here that the night before the trial he completely lost his memory of everything related to you. He couldn't even recall ever even knowing a Lockhart. And during that time, you Professor, pulled some favours in order to have him convicted of defamation. But, luckily, he was expecting that, and right before his sentencing, his lawyers restored his entire memory of using a Pensieve he had stored in case he ever was attacked by what he calls the Memory Modification Mage…"

"That is enough Miss Dursley!" The last line seemed to have hit a nerve. "I have had enough of this! Not another word or I will send you to - to the Headmaster! He gave me this job and he won't have his choices second guessed by a second year Muggleborn!"

"Muggleborn? Professor, are you saying what I'm saying isn't true because I'm a Muggleborn? I though teachers weren't supposed to discriminate by blood status? House, maybe, but-"

"Out!"

"But sir," Daisy tried, now just being antagonistic for the sake of it. "There's something attacking Muggleborns out there, how can you be so sure that I'll be safe? Or don't you want me to be safe?"

"Quite frankly, I don't care! Get out, and don't even think about coming back!"

Daisy gathered her stuff as quickly as she could, and left the silent classroom, the door slamming behind her. Leaning on the wall opposite the classroom, she slid down to the floor and finally breathed, accompanied by a nervous laugh. Maybe, Nott was right, she was going insane. What she had just done was insane. Her hands shook with the realisation that almost three weeks of research and near daily mental rehearsals had been pulled off perfectly. Well, she'd made the point she wanted to make. It was a shame that wizards didn't seem keen on theatre. That performance had to be worth an award. And Harry's outraged face? Everyone probably thought he was now pissed off she'd blown his cover.

She knew she should probably should feel a bit more guilty about what she'd just done to Lockhart – this class would be impossible to teach now. All his classes actually, for awhile. Her class had to be asking him questions now, and then once they left the classroom, they'd tell their friends in other Houses. By tomorrow morning everyone would know, and there would be more questions, maybe even Owls from worried fathers. But Daisy didn't feel guilty at all, because really the Heir of Slytherin was to blame. No, actually, Lockhart had _himself_ to blame for being a fraud. She would Owl the book back tonight, just in case when he eventually reported her to her Head of House and/or the Headmaster, he tried to have her expelled on the basis that, _technically_, she was in possession of an illegal book. Gribb's books were as welcome in Britain as the man himself.

Getting to her feet, she decided to head to the dorms. She also needed to pen a proper letter of thanks to Jean-Pierre's fiancé for being tolerant of the correspondence necessary to even figure out this part of the plan. Jean-Pierre's input had been more than invaluable, and the book now safely in her book bag had been more than useful. As much as she hated the Masons, she wouldn't mind seeing the Malfoi again in the summer.

"Daisy!"

Daisy turned to find Harry jogging to bridge the distance between them. "Harry? Aren't you supposed-"

"What are you playing at?" Harry snapped. "What the hell was that? I mean - I've just managed convince him that you're obviously cracking under the strain. I think I've also agreed to help him sign his stupid fan mail so maybe you won't be expelled if you apologise – but that isn't the point! Why do I even care if you're expelled? Good! You just made me look like the Heir! _Why on Earth would you do that_?"

"Because people won't hurt me if they think you're the Heir," Daisy said simply. Being calm in the face of murderous intent was becoming increasingly easy of late. "I know I should have run it past you first-"

"You _think_?"

"-but I figured you'd be alright with it. You want to help me, this is the way to do it."

"Seriously? You think _this_ is the right way to go about it? Don't you think the actual heir will be a bit – I don't know – _upset_ when he gets wind that I'm claiming to be him?" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to get a grip on his emotions. He gave a frustrated sigh when he realised something. "People are going to think I'm attacking Muggleborns!"

"No they're not, your best friend is a Muggleborn," Daisy pointed out. "_I'm_ a Muggleborn. They'll think you attack people who annoy you. Everyone knows Creevey was buzzing about you like an annoying fly for a good part of the term, and Mrs Norris would have probably wandered into the Chamber or something. No one misses her except Filch. And besides, it doesn't matter what people think – you're not _really_ the Heir."

"It does matter what people think, actually," Harry said. "You didn't have to go through Stonewall Primary with people thinking you're the cause of every lice outbreak, every bad football game and the target of half the rumours."

"Are you ever going to let that go? I'm sorry, Dudley's sorry! You're not the one who's going through Hogwarts dealing with a bunch of blood obsessed Slytherin. What you had at Stonewall was character building-"

"Do you _ever_ think about what you say? _Character building_? You think that _hell_ was character building?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Daisy snapped back, just as harshly, "but the only reason the Heir of Slytherin is even here is because of _you_! The great, important Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Saviour of all the House Elves! This is all because of you! You, Harry, not me – _you_!"

Harry stepped back from her, hand back to grasping his hair as he tried to get a grasp on his emotions. "That's not – that not fair, Daisy."

Daisy stood her ground, arms crossed, unrelenting as always. "Do you want to help me, or not?"

"Not like this! You don't have to do this. We – me, Ron, Hermione - we're working on a way to find out who the heir is. We just need some time."

"I might not have time. The only thing I have right now is your name. So are you going to let me use it or not?"

He sighed. "You could try saying please once in your life."

Harry stumbled backwards as Daisy hugged him. She was beaming at him as she pulled away, picking up the bag she had let drop with a thud.

"Thank you Harry. Thank you. You might have just saved my life."

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, as she turned to carry on her path. "He said you could come back. If you apologised. For lying."

"I'm not apologising. I'm not sorry."

"You know you're going to get into trouble for this, right? He could write to Aunt Petunia."

"And say what? Your daughter exposed me as a fraud? I can handle Mum. I'm not going near him until Snape makes me. I like my memories the way they are, thanks." She placed a hand on his arm. "I've got this, Harry. Just go back to class."

"Fine, do you what you want. It's not like you ever listen to me, anyway."

"I am technically older than you."

"Really? Might be nice if you acted like it sometimes."

* * *

News of what had transpired during that Defence lesson spread like anything was wont to spread via the Hogwarts rumour mill. Harry told himself repeatedly that this was no worse than last year's dragon incident, where Gryffindor had ignored him for a good part of a term. At least this time, they were too scared to even consider glaring at him. Corridor traffic jams were no longer an issue because everyone was keeping their distance, some going as far as to press themselves against the walls to drastically lessen any chance of accidentally bumping into him. If he found it hard to see the upside of all this, Ron certainly didn't. He got first pick of every bit of food he could get, chess competitors were never amiss because no one turned him down, no matter what Year (though it annoyed him when the Captain of the Chess Club lost on purpose – I mean, come on) and he was best friend's with the heir. Of Potter, of course, Ron would add moments later to be sure there wasn't any misunderstanding.

"Your cousin," he informed Harry as they sat by the Gryffindor Common Room fire. "I think I misunderstood her. She might actually not be as mental as I thought. This-" He waved to the plate of snacks neither Hermione nor Harry knew how he'd acquired "-is absolutely genius."

"Let's not forget that _this_-" Harry snapped, mimicking Ron's gesture, "-is because someone at her Hogwarts wants to get rid of her. Or people like her. Or just her – to get to me."

"And let's not forget that she absolutely humiliated a Hogwarts Professor in order to do so," Hermione added. "No one can even check that was true because her source of information is _illegal_."

"You're just upset Lockhart's a massive fraud. Who gives a bunch of second years access to the Restricted Section that easily? And Vanishes bones instead of mending them? Besides, you haven't complained about not being able to get a book you wanted since it happened. You just walk into the Library, mention the name, and as if by magic, the book is available on the shelves by the end of the day."

Colour rose into Hermione's cheeks. "I do not! How would someone who's not in the Library know I wanted the book? I would never, willingly, exploit Harry like that! I personally think Daisy had absolutely no right to do what she did."

"Yet you're reading the book that last year you said she had no right to get her hands on," Harry said, giving a pointed look to_ Hogwarts; A History Revised_ open in Hermione's lap. She hadn't stopped reading it since Harry had let her borrow it.

"Well – since it's here – I didn't –"

"I'm going for a walk."

"Nice going, Hermione," Harry heard Ron say as he grabbed his cloak off the back of the sofa, and headed for the portrait hole, unable to help the growl that escaped him when a first year squeaked at the sight of him.

The grandfather clock at the end of the corridor told him he had an hour and a half until curfew. An hour and a half until he had to return to the Gryffindor Common Room and ignore the whispers about him. He couldn't really complain; it was proving to be a great test of friendship. Those who knew him – and perhaps even Daisy – well enough were taking it as one big joke, and taking full advantage of it. Such persons included the Weasley Twins, who he'd caught once taking a bag of what appeared to be coins from a seventh year Slytherin, thanking him with a pat on the back, on behalf of The Heir and Family. Neville, however, kept hold of his purple crystal, because he now had the added fear of the Heir coming after him for being friends with people who might dare impersonate him.

However irritating the whole situation was, Harry couldn't ignore the change that had appeared in Daisy's movements ever since the Lockhart Confrontation. And that was even with the fortnight of detentions she had received from her highly unimpressed Head of House. Snape apparently did not take well to students being kicked out of class, even less when the teacher refused to take back said student despite it being a core class. Snape was most certainly not a man who liked to be made to ask for things, especially not from Professor Dumbledore. Daisy looked…happy. It just made Harry sad that the only way she could even have a chance at feeling like any other student, was because a good chunk of the student population was scared of him.

"Hi, Harry."

Harry jumped slightly, startled out of his reverie. He wasn't sure when he'd come to a halt or why he'd chosen to stare out of the window, eyes on the Quidditch pitch, illuminated no doubt for some last minute Quidditch practise.

"Oh hi, Ginny."

"You're by yourself," the first year commented. It was rather odd to see Harry alone.

"Yeah, I needed to get away from everyone for a little while."

"I can leave you alone, if you want."

"No! I mean, you're okay. Sometimes Ron and Hermione get a bit much, you know?" Harry took a deep breath, telling himself to stop frightening Ginny, who seemed to be retreating further behind her long red hair. "Fancy going for a walk?"

Ginny's eyes widened. For a moment he thought she was going to say no, but once she'd finished colouring as she'd done so many times whilst he was at the Burrow, she gave several quick nods. Setting off on a long route back to the Tower, Harry found it odd that he wasn't the quiet one. Ron and Hermione, and Daisy, did more than enough talking for the both of them.

"How have you been?" Harry said, "You've been quiet lately. Ron's mentioned it a few times, but you didn't say much over summer anyway. I hope nothing's wrong."

"I'm okay. Just settling in," Ginny said, offering a nervous smile, before returning her gaze to the fixed point on the floor. "How - How are you?"

"Worried. Mostly about Daisy, of course. She says she's fine, but I don't know, you know? She never tells me anything until it's too late. I never know what she's really up to or what she's doing and it feels like it should be obvious but the only thing that I can think of is that there is a monster out there who wants to get rid of her. And that's not even counting her Housemates! And you've heard about the bets – of course, you have, everyone's heard about the bets. Wish I could hear the Slytherin ones. Then I'd know who hurt her because if she tells, they'd be the first ones to go, right? _If_ I was the Heir that is – which I'm not! This is all so ridiculous, and I can't believe she's done it but-"

He sighed, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. "I'm sorry. You don't want to hear this."

"I do!" Ginny insisted, turning a darker shade at the squeak in her proclamation. "It's nice having someone share their problems with me and not the other way round."

"Have you been having problems?" Harry asked. When they'd taken several steps and she still hadn't said anything, his impulse to ramble kicked in. "It's alright to feel scared, you know. I don't have a family like yours so I was pretty excited being here. I mean, I don't have a Mum and Dad to miss, and my home never really feels like home, so I didn't have much to miss, not like you might do, if you know what I mean?"

"I'm not homesick, if that's what you mean, Harry."

"Then what is it?"

"I think I made friends with the wrong person," Ginny said eventually, her voice so quiet Harry had to lean over to hear it. "I thought he was my friend but lately, with everything that's happened – I don't think I can trust him anymore. I don't want to. I don't think he's very nice."

"Then he's probably not your friend if you're wondering if he is. You have your brothers, and six more years to make other friends, right? And you have me, Ginny. I'm your friend."

Ginny looked at him in surprise. "You are?"

"Well, you're my friend, aren't you? Otherwise I don't think I'd have told you everything I just told you." He blushed. "You're easy to talk to. I'm easy to talk to too, so you can talk to me too, if you need to talk. You don't need a bad friend in your life, Ginny."

"Thanks, Harry." She looked down at her feet. "I think I'm going to get him out of my life."

"That's good to hear," Harry smiled, as they came to the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Well, here we are. _Lion's roar_. Your brother has snacks if you're hungry."

"He's probably finished them all."

"I think you're right."

Hermione and Ron were surprised to see Harry and Ginny emerging from the portrait hole together, but the smile on their face at their shared giggle was a welcome change from the former's latest moods and the latter's concerning quiet.

* * *

"Ugh. Remind me why we chose Moaning Myrtle's bathroom to do this?"

Ron pulled a face at the hem of his trousers now soaked in the water that covered the flooded bathroom. That's what you got when your mother insisted that you grow into every article of clothing in your wardrobe. Harry was rolling his trousers up as Hermione checked on the progress of the Potion. They were doing well so far, but with each day, the pressing need for the missing ingredients approached. They couldn't move on without them.

"Why don't you ask Daisy for them?" Ron suggested as they watched Hermione brewing. It only needed around half an hour of complex looking stirring today. As Hermione kept an eye on that, he and Harry were in charge of thinking up a way of getting the ingredients – without getting expelled. "She managed to get that Lockhart book in what – two weeks? Give her some ingredients and she'll have them in no time."

"She's already on thin ice," Harry pointed out. "I don't think she's going to risk it for a potion she doesn't know we're making."

"You mean you don't want her to know," Hermione pointed out, continuing to mumble numbers under breath as she stirred. "Either because you want to save her and be her hero, or because you and I both know she doesn't want to find the real Heir of Slytherin – she's having way too much fun. And so you're scared she'll be upset with you if you ruin whatever ridiculous plan she's cooking up next."

"I heard Ernie MacMillan in Herbology suggesting she _is_ the Heir of Slytherin," Ron said, "and that she's just using Harry to throw us all off the scent."

"Malfoy will definitely know," Harry said. "Have you seen the way he looks at her? He's either angry or worried. So he's either angry because he's the Heir and he can't say it without blowing his cover or worried because he's figured out she is."

"Hold on – are you actually suggesting she's the Heir?"

Harry laughed. "I just wanted to see your face."

Ron flicked some water at him. "Tosser."

"Our best bet is still to take the ingredients from Snape's stores then," Hermione said. "I'll do it, seeing as I'm not on the verge of being expelled, and you two seem less and less inclined to do anything yourselves these days."

"Blame Ron," Harry said.

"I was taught not to let good things go to waste," Ron retorted. "Are we almost done? I want to get out of here before-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence because they heard the telltale wail of the bathroom's inhabitant as she returned. Ron mimicked pointing a wand at his neck and the entrails splattering across the bathroom stall, a move his brothers often reserved for their mother during one of her outbursts. All he, and quite possibly Harry, wanted to do stay hidden in their stall until she chose to go haunt some other cubicle instead, but Hermione pushed them out, saying that they needed to be nice to her if they wanted their potion-making to remain a secret. And Myrtle seemed to quite like Harry.

"What's wrong Myrtle?" Harry asked as he and Ron waded across to her usual toilet. He had to raise his voice to be heard above her cries. He wasn't entirely sure, but this was quite possibly the loudest he'd heard her cry so far.

"Oh, it's _you_!" she cried as the came into her line of vision, "I thought you'd come back to throw something else at me!"

"Why would I want to throw something at you in the first place?"

"I don't know, but someone else did!" Myrtle shouted, swooping dramatically as she did so, sending a wave of water that entered their shoes. "Here I was, sitting in my U-bend contemplating death and prefects - and it just fell through my head."

"At least it didn't hurt, did it?" Harry reasoned.

Myrtle didn't quite take it that way. "Oh, yes, because that makes it perfectly acceptable! Let's all throw books at Myrtle because she can't feel it! You can even make it into a little game! Ten points if you can get through her stomach! Fifty points if you can get it through her head!"

"Is that what they were doing – whoever threw it at you? Because that's horrible."

She seemed to calm down at his sympathy, her tears settling to an irritating sniff. "I don't know. I didn't see who it was. It's over there though, it got washed out."

Looking over at where she was pointing, they came upon a small, thin book under one of the sink. It had a leather black cover, a little tattered around the edges, and had had just as much luck as their feet at staying dry. Harry stepped forward to pick it, but found himself stopped by a frowning Ron.

"What?"

"Are you mad?" Ron asked. "You don't just pick up strange books. You have no idea where they came from or what they are. What if it's like the _Sonnet's of a Sorcerer_? That book made everyone who read it speak in limericks for the rest of their lives. There's another that burns your eyes out. Or there's one that turns you into Hermione!"

Harry gave his best friend an incredulous look. "You're telling me there's a book that will turn me into Hermione if I read it?"

"No, but if you start reading it, you'll never be able to put it down. It'll be like your _Hogwarts: A History_. This lady in Bath Dad told me about had to learn to do everything _one handed_. And you're planning to go over there and pick up a battered book that you've just found in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?"

"What's Harry doing?" Hermione asked as she left their stall, applying distraction and warding charms on the stall, in case Filch came to fix the flooding.

"I'm going to take a look at that book," Harry said, ducking past Ron to pick up the mystery book. "Well, it's a diary, Ron. From fifty years ago and…" He continued to turn it over in his hands, fingers tracing over the gold embossing, "…and it's from a newsagents on Vauxhall Road, so someone who knew the Muggle world must have bought it…"

"If it burns out your eyes, don't tell you I didn't warn you," Ron said, keeping his distance.

"A diary isn't going to burn out your eyes, Ronald," Hermione sighed. "Especially not if it's from a newsagents in the Muggle world. I hate to break it to you, but it's the wizards who've shown a tendency towards cruelty."

"The witch hunts - just a figment of our imagination, were they, Hermione? The Statute of Secrecy exists just for fun, does it?"

"If any of you care," Harry said, raising his voice to cut through the bickering, as he leafed through the soggy blank pages, "This once belonged to T. M. Riddle. And apparently he never wrote in it."

"T.M. Riddle? I know that name," Ron said approaching Harry carefully to look at the front page, with the water-blurred name. "He got an award for special services to the school about fifty years ago. He might have been Head Boy as well, but I didn't spend that long polishing the shields I didn't burp slugs all over."

"Why would anyone try and get rid of it?" Hermione asked, looking at the diary with her usual curiosity. "I mean, why would a fifty year old diary suddenly appear _now_?"

Harry shrugged. "Someone found it, had no use for it, and came to throw it through Myrtle's head as a joke?"

Ron gaped as he watched Harry slip the diary into his pocket. "You're not _keeping_ that thing, are you?"

"Not for long," Harry answered, as they waded back out of the bathroom. "Since Daisy loves recycled gifts so much, she can have one off of me. And what better than the unused diary of an old Hogwarts student who won Special Services to the school, was possibly Head Boy, and whose plaque you vomited slugs all over?"

"You know," Ron mused as Hermione kindly cast a Drying Spell at their feet, "I always thought we Weasleys were terrible when it came to hand-me-downs, but that diary? That has to be worse than Scabbers."


	21. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

December arrived with its usual flurry of snow, so that within a fortnight, the entire grounds was the picturesque nightmare from a Muggle season's greetings card. Melting charms were a requirement if you had any intention of making it through the knee high layer of snow to outdoor classes and warming charms were a necessity to get through the draughty corridors from classroom to classroom without freezing to death. The only way to appreciate the snow without complaint was to be within the warm confines of your Common Room, with a warm cup of hot chocolate in hand and the fire roaring nearby – unless you were a Slytherin. Were it not for the social necessity of the Common Room, they might consider migrating to their dormitories for the duration of the winter, which were much warmer than the constant draught which refused to leave the dungeons despite the elves' best attempts to keep the fires roaring. It added another layer of underlining competition to the Common Room; he or she who could sneer the haughtiest, and boast the best connections with the thinnest veiled humility would find themselves the warmest for the longest periods of times by commandeering the chairs closest to the fireplaces. Warming charms were so irritating to constantly re-apply.

Daisy might have used this as a source of amusement - seeing which of her Housemates might move if she was able to convince them she was the Heir of Slytherin could be nothing short of hilarious - but she was much too busy enjoying the peace that came with being left alone. She couldn't claim that she wasn't 'just another Slytherin', but there were no hexes to look out for and all active attempts to make her life a misery had been put on hold. She could just sit in the Common Room with Millicent, staring at Zabini as he and Nott went over their Herbology homework, pondering why he spent so much time with them when he clearly hated her, or other such quandaries. Her current favourite was about Snape.

"I mean, I can understand why he might possibly hate me," Daisy said, "Apparently I destroyed his entire collection of dogbane last year _but_ he didn't hate me last year. He just told me he wished I was in Gryffindor a lot – you know, I don't think he's ever said he's glad I'm in Slytherin, even though_ I_ won us the House Cup last year. If I'd been in Gryffindor, you'd have lost. And then I suppose the whole Lockhart thing was pushing it, but he understood. After he'd finished ranting at me – he's always ranting at me – he said he didn't think it necessary to inform my parents of my temporary suspension from a core class until Lockhart thought he could look at me without wanting to throttle me. So what I don't get is why he now hates me for something _I didn't do_?"

"There's no proof you didn't do it," Millicent shrugged, putting down the book she had been reading with habitual resign. When Daisy started wondering out loud, it went much faster to help her get to an answer than ignoring her.

"I got hit by that potion too! In fact, I don't think my hands have or ever will go back to their original size." She held up her hands to Millicent. "Don't they look bigger to you? They look bigger to me."

"You getting hit by that potion isn't proof," Zabini said, pausing in his own activities, "That's exactly what you would do. Make sure you get hit too, so nobody suspects you. Just like Potter got Sorted into Gryffindor so nobody would suspect him. Family traits are very telling, you know."

"Let's say that _is_ a family trait," Daisy conceded, not about to disabuse him of the notion that Harry was the Heir, "What would I have to gain from exploding Crabbe's cauldron? With a firework? That could have done a lot more than sending the Swelling Potion everywhere. If that had been in the early stages, it would have been an _actual explosion_ – we would have been blown to bits. I _know_ that!"

"Which is why you set it off at a time when you _knew_ it would be safe."

"But _why_? Why would I do that?"

"You did it, you tell us."

"Stop winding her up," Millicent scolded, as Daisy let out a low growl of frustration. "You know she didn't do it, so just put us out of our misery and tell her why you think Snape thinks she did."

"Because everyone thinks you're going to get rid of Malfoy next," Nott offered.

He had grown a lot…nicer the past few weeks, contributing to the conversation even if it didn't contribute to his improving grades. The week Daisy had spent making spiteful remarks about his right-hand handwriting, and prompting him to switch to his left, had made quite a significant difference. His work now reasonably legible, teachers could give him the mark he deserved, and he actually found some joy in studying with notes now easier and lot less frustrating to take.

"If I wanted to get rid of Malfoy, don't you think I'd do it somewhere other than right under his supposed _godfather's_ nose?" Daisy asked, incredulous at the logic that went into some people's theories. "So why not his cauldron? Why Crabbe's?"

"That would be too obvious," Zabini reasoned, "You're going for his bodyguards first. Crabbe is the slightly taller, and wider of the two, so I assume the strongest. Then you'd take out Goyle with another so-called accident, and then Malfoy would be vulnerable. And besides, multiple Petrifications might raise some eyebrows."

"That is absolutely ridiculous."

"About as ridiculous as Potter being the Heir, but you've managed to convince a lot of people that might be a fact. Snape believes it is you, because _that is what you do_. You have no respect for teachers, you do what it takes to achieve whatever it is you want to do, and you do it like you have every right to do it. He could have suspended you. Count yourself lucky that all you got was a letter home to your Muggle parents who probably don't even grasp the significance of anything that goes on here."

"Why is it you Purebloods think you're the only ones with parents who want you to be the best?" Daisy snapped at the recurring theme in his jabs. "My mother is _livid_ – just because she can't send a Howler doesn't mean that she isn't angry. I have a twin brother, who since it came out I was a witch, became their favourite. He gets nominated to be Hall Monitor, and suddenly look at how great Dudley is! Look, how terrible that witch is – she can't even behave herself! But I'm sure that is something you wouldn't understand, since siblings are a foreign concept to you lot."

"I have a brother," Nott stated.

Daisy gave him a blank look and an equally bland response. "Congratulations."

"I mean, that I understand. About your brother. But you obviously don't care what your parents think, because you came here, which from what I understand is _why_ you're not their favourite anymore. You could have stayed in Muggleland, but you didn't. And it isn't exactly like you try to be the best."

"I am the best," Daisy countered, "Just because people don't know it yet, doesn't make it true."

"Actually, I think that's what being the best means," Zabini pointed out.

Daisy had to resist a strong urge to stick her tongue out at him. "I preferred you when you were too uptight to acknowledge my existence."

"I am a friend of Millicent. It would be illogical to ignore her pet Mudblood."

"Why are you a friend of Millicent's again?"

"Our mothers are becoming good friends. It would be illogical to ignore one another."

"Why does he need to have a reason to be my friend again?" Millicent asked.

"Because he's Zabini!" Daisy said, very much of the opinion that Zabini needed a reason for everything, including his existence. "Last year he was Malfoy's right hand man, and now he's with us. This is not a change that just happened – he has a motive!"

"So he decided to spend his time with better people – I don't see the problem with that. Though right now you are about as self-centred and irritating as Malfoy, so if you don't shut up about it, we might have to leave you for better company."

"Millicent Bullstrode - you wouldn't!"

"_I _have other friends, Daisy," Millicent said plainly, not responding to Daisy's jesting tones in kind. "Maybe one of these days it'll help you to stop thinking that I stay with you because I'd have no one else otherwise. True, I'd have no one else that I like as much or find as amusing, but I wouldn't be alone."

"Millie, that's not what I-"

Millicent waved away her explanation. "It is, and that's okay, because that's just the way you are. But Blaise and Theo don't have to be here either, and no matter what ulterior motive they cite, it's because they're being nice to you. They're humouring you. So take a slice of humble pie once in a while and remember we're the only ones in this House who actually like you."

"I don't like her," Zabini said.

"Me neither," Nott seconded.

Daisy ignored them in favour to turning towards Millicent, and taking her hand in hers. "Millie, that isn't what I think of you. I know I'm lucky to be your friend. You could be another Hag – and Lord knows there are enough of those. And without you I would be just another Muggleborn, floating through Hogwarts without any understanding of anything." She squeezed Millicent's hand. "I wouldn't be the best without you."

Millicent pulled her hand away and gave Daisy a disgusted look. "I think just gagged on all that dragon dung you just spewed."

Daisy let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding, and grinned at Millicent who was turning back to her book. "Don't fish for compliments then."

"Someone has to bring you down to Earth," Millicent mumbled from behind her book.

Daisy picked up her own homework again, but hesitated as she brought quill to parchment. "I'm sorry."

Millicent lowered her book slightly and smiled. "I know."

"Girls are weird," Nott commented watching as they settled back into their silence, Millicent concentrated on her reading, and Daisy doing something that resembled homework, as she lazed on the sofa, her posture just about bordering on impropriety. There were times when she made it very hard to ignore the fact that she was so _common_.

"No, those two are weird," Zabini corrected. "If Pansy realised that Daphne only speaks to her out of pity and family obligation, there would be tears. And screaming, I think. There's always screaming."

"Remember that time Pansy pulled out a chunk of Brown's hair? Or when Draco was supposedly smitten on a Greengrass? Or when no one danced with her at the festival?" Nott cast a look over at where the dark-haired girl was seated, in hushed conversation with a first year. "Pansy screams a lot, actually."

"Perhaps all girls are weird after all."

* * *

Not long after, they put their books away and made their way up to the Great Hall for the first meeting of the newly re-instated Duelling Club. It had been announced a week ago, and had proven to be a more than welcome distraction. The attack on Colin seemed like something distantly unpleasant, and most people had come to the conclusion that as long as Harry Potter and his cousin were happy, the writing on the wall would remain just that. And if it turned out to be a big hoax, then the real Heir would more than likely target the imposters first.

The Duelling Club had been divided into three groups; first to third years, fourth years and OWL students, and NEWT students. When the fourth and fifth years finally filed out of the Great Hall a little before eight o'clock, chattering happily whilst looking slightly singed and a little worse for wear, the second years imagined that they'd have a duo like McGonagall and Sinistra as well. Instead they entered the hall under Snape's scrutiny, his black eyes never leaving the entering crowd even as the teacher beside him tried to engage him in conversation. Only the third years recognised the man with the gnarled walking stick and the sun bleached grey streaked hair, grinning roguishly, as Silvanus Kettleburn, the eccentric, slightly mad, Care of Magical Creatures teacher. The younger years had to ponder their luck on having been allotted this particular trio – how exactly were two teachers with walking sticks and bloody Lockhart supposed to teach them anything about duelling?

"Settle down, settle down," Lockhart hushed when it looked like all the students who would come had arrived. "Can you all hear me? Excellent! Welcome then, to the first meeting of the Duelling Club, inspired by the entirely _true_ and incredible feats of yours truly. Professor Dumbledore wished for me to impart my extensive knowledge and experience upon your young minds in case you ever need defend yourselves as I have on many occasions."

"We know!" Came the boisterous call from the group of third year boys who'd had just about enough of Lockhart for the day. "Get on with it!"

"Yes, well," Lockhart continued, seemingly unfazed. "Let me introduce my two assistants for the evening – my dear colleagues Professor Snape and Professor Kettleburn, who both tell me they have some experience in the duelling field and since they're both…on the same level, there can be no unfair advantage on my part."

Whilst Snape's lip was curling dangerously, Kettleburn looked highly amused by the entire situation. Or at least Daisy was interpreting the grimace on his face as a smile; his blue-grey eyes were twinkling with something that might have been either mischief or a desire to kill his 'dear colleague'.

"Now gentlemen, take your places."

Snape remained where he was whilst Kettleburn walked to the other end of the platform they were stood on, turning rather gracefully to face his opponent.

"Bow and…wands at the ready…"

The last part was mumbled, because like the students gathered around silently, he had failed to note the moment in which either men had emerged from their bows and found their wands. Just one arm movement had sufficed for them to have their wands pointed at each other, holding them in a manner very similar to the stance of swordsmen.

Lockhart cleared his throat. "As you can see, they're holding their wands in the accepted combative position. On the count of three, they will cast their first spell. Of course, none of them will be aiming to kill."

"Oh I wouldn't count on that," came Kettleburn's gravelly response. "Severus is always looking to kill something."

"You Gryffindors are always asking for just that," Snape sneered back.

"Now, now – let's leave the petty schoolyard rivalry where it belongs," Lockhart enthused. Daisy wondered if amongst his many talents, Lockhart also had a death wish, given that his colleagues were either mad or murderous or positively both, and could easily move their wands a little to attack him instead of each other. "On the count of three, gentlemen. One – two- three-"

"_Expelliarmus_!"

A dazzling scarlet light shot out of Snape's wand and straight for Kettleburn, who was already slashing his left arm through the air, and his mouth opening to shout "_Protego_!" which deflected the light, narrowly missing Lockhart's head, much to the general disappointment of the room. However, that was not the end of it.

Kettleburn responded with a spell of the same colour as Snape's had been, but what drew gasps was that the teacher did not say a word, and nor did Snape as he produced the same greyish shielding charm, before drawing his arm back and matching Kettleburn's spell whizzing towards him. The spells met in mid-air with a loud boom, before bursting into a shower of green stars and silver flowers floating down onto the students, who applauded the grinning Professors. Well, Kettleburn was grinning; Snape looked slightly less murderous than usual, which was quite a vast improvement.

"Yes, well done Professors," Lockhart said, bringing the attention back to him, having straightened out his plum robes after his little fall from the stage, which had gone thankfully unnoticed by the majority of the students gathered. "The red spell that you saw there is more commonly known as the Disarming Charm, and what is used to deflect it is known as the Shield Charm."

"A variation of the Shield Charm," Snape corrected. "It is a spell that takes many different forms, against differing elements and of different strengths depending on the intent or the wand movements."

"I can tell you that the Shield Charm I used there is not the same one I would use to protect myself against say…a shower of arrows raining down on me or low-level fire breathers," Kettleburn agreed, leaning on his walking stick, a wistful look on his face. "As I was telling my third years the other day, magic can go both ways when dealing with magical creatures. You can either anger them and then they'll tie you to a rock and have their flying friends peck out your spleen, or it can give you the upper hand. And that is what you're always looking to have when you're duelling, _the upper hand_."

"Your first instinct should always be to Disarm your opponent," Snape added, dark eyes scanning the Hall, holding their attention with no less difficulty than he did in his classrooms. "He might be distracted or luck might be on your side and victory will be yours. But even if he counters it with a Shield Charm, you will be able to size up your opponent. Is he more of the defensive type, does he counter with an offensive strike or does he dodge it physically?"

"Never, ever, under any circumstances underestimate your enemy. That's when you start losing fingers and getting grey hairs or Merlin forbid - losing duels and writing books about them where you tell the world you actually won."

"Your physical stature should not matter when you factor in proper skill and attention," Snape continued before Lockhart could recover from the little spluttering noise he had omitted. "As younger years, we will not expect you to be able to Shield yourself effectively, and non-verbal spells are not covered until your NEWT years and only those who choose to stay on with Professor Flitwick will ever learn needless, showy neutralising spells that do the trick nonetheless."

"Now how about we all get you into pairs?" Kettleburn suggested, already making his way off the platform. "Pair up, pair up! Not you lot – I've seen what you get up to when you think Pomona isn't watching. Crayton meet…what's your name, lad? What do you mean he's a Slytherin? Oh for goodness sake man, you will meet snakes all your life; better face them now than later!"

Daisy wasn't entirely sure what to make of Kettleburn, and she would have asked Millicent of her opinion if she hadn't been dragged several pairs away to be partnered with Mandy Brocklehurst. Snape and Kettleburn made their way through the Hall, manoeuvring and allocating partners that were likely to cause the most friction and therefore the more point-taking opportunities for Snape, and make things more interesting for Kettleburn. Perhaps, Daisy reasoned as she stood opposite a nervous looking Sally-Anne Perks whose weak smile quickly turned into a grimace, this was another example of that character-building malarkey her father was always going on about. You weren't going to properly duel with your friends, were you?

That said, Snape probably knew that the only thing he was asking for trouble when he broke up the Golden Trio to place Harry with Malfoy of all people; it was only Daisy's fast reflexes that allowed her to Disarm Perks within moments. As the Hufflepuff crawled around the floor looking for her wand and trying not to be hit by stray charms, Daisy watched them nervously. Those two weren't just throwing around Disarming Spells, which was more than worrying. And _surely_ Snape was aware of what he was doing when he broke up the Hags - Parkinson looked both gleeful and horrified to be in the presence of Granger and Susan had more than a few things to say to Greengrass. Kettleburn could be forgiven for his pairings; he'd not yet met any of the first and second years. He just moved them around by the colour of their tie.

Zabini curled his lip in disgust when Entwhistle shuffled into his presence, the latter not sure if he was able to put theory into practise, and it was never a good idea to put Neville and Finch-Fletchley together – they were both walking disasters with a wand in hand. Despite only meant to disarm, _their_ spells met mid air and sent them sprawling backwards, Nott's spell made Boot's head snap backwards as if he had just been punched in the face and Daisy flinched at the blinding flash omitted by Ron's dodgy wand. She didn't know what had happened, but Finnegan was doubled over and the red-head was apologising profusely.

Snape's "Finite Incantatum" that covered the entire Great Hall did not come a moment too soon, though when the cloud had cleared, she did not expect to see Millicent with Mandy in a headlock, her arm bleeding from scratches from the feisty Ravenclaw, and less than friendly words being exchanged. She was instantly by her friends side, not even muttering an apology for the wand-grappling fingers she tread along the way. She'd expected this from Harry and Malfoy, but _Millie_?

"What's going on?"

"I cannot believe you are friends with _her_," Millicent spat as Daisy pulled her away, her face red and her hair a crazy halo of raven curls. "You _ever_ talk about my mother like that again, Brocklehurst, I swear to Merlin-"

"What I said about your mother was the truth!" Mandy retorted, "My father-"

"-is a low level Arithmancer who has spent the past five years trying to figure out how to predict the weather," Daisy cut in, restraining Millicent until she calmed down. Daisy had never seen her lose her cool before, not in public. Never in public. "Yeah, I read up on him after you were so sure that you were supposed to be on the Gobstones team because 'the Arithmancy said so'. Didn't get very far, as it was all pretty boring. And it _is_ the weather, for God's sake. But Ada Bullstrode, Potions Master and regular contributor to countless Potions, Herbology and Healing journals? The stuff she does is pretty amazing."

"Who asked you, Daisy? Fat cow can't fight for herself?"

"You did, when you messed with my best friend. I don't want to know what you said, but it was enough to upset Millie, and that _really_ upsets me. I'm just trying to figure out if I should hex you or wait a little…" She cocked her head to the side pensively. "And tell Harry exactly what I think of you."

Mandy took an instinctive step back. "I-I don't believe you. The calculations don't point to Potter being the Heir of -"

"Your calculations haven't exactly worked out so far, have they?" Daisy asked, her hand tightening on her wand, as she took her own step forward. The look in Mandy's face was something Daisy couldn't pretend she hadn't missed seeing on people in reaction to her. "I should hex you, then, shouldn't I? Just to be on the safe side. You're not worth the hassle of Petrifying, anyway. Just like you're not good enough to get on the Gobstones' team."

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Daisy was surprised to find her wand flying out of her hand. She swallowed the hex that had been on the tip of her tongue and schooled her face into something of an apology as she turned to Kettleburn, who now held her wand.

"Don't you know it's rude to hex a student when your teachers are talking?" he asked. "Three points from…Slytherin, is it? Weasley, I think you might have colour-blinded me. I can't tell green from blue. A hundredth of a point from Gryffindor for every week you don't do anything about that bloody wand. You will do more harm than good with that. You _are_ a Weasley, right?"

Snape was not happy with this point deduction. "Dursley, if you're so keen to practise magic rather than listening when a teacher is speaking, then perhaps you would like to demonstrate your magical prowess to the rest of us?"

Daisy had no idea what was going on. Malfoy was already in the centre of the circle that had been formed, smirking at her. It was a well-known fact that Snape rarely paid attention to one of his own, letting them get away with murder unless, of course, it was him they were ignoring him and/or losing points in the process. It was also a well-known fact that Daisy was becoming an irritant her Head of House.

"But Professor –" Harry started.

"You'll have an opportunity for the limelight another time, Potter," Snape brushed aside, gesturing for Daisy to come forward and take her cousin's place once she had retrieved her wand from Kettleburn, who was still rubbing his eyes and causing Ron's embarrassment at his malfunctioning wand to go into tomato blush territory. Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked. Daisy paled.

"If I were you I'd duck," Kettleburn whispered, causing Daisy to jump, having been distracted by Lockhart telling her that she might have stood a chance if she'd actually paid some attention to his class. "Unless you can produce a Shield Charm, running is always an excellent plan B. Assuming you've still got both legs, of course."

Unable to tell the strange Care of Magical Creatures teacher exactly what she thought of his advice, Daisy nodded slowly instead, tightening her grip on her wand. She'd been antagonising Malfoy for weeks now, and now it seemed that he was going to get his revenge - helped by their Head of House for something that no one would believe she hadn't done.

Lockhart signalled the start of the duel, "Three - two - one - go!"

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, "_Serpensortia_!"

The end of his wand exploded. Daisy watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor. She let out her own little noise of fear, slowly edging away – she did not think Finite Incantatum worked on banishing live creatures.

"Stop moving, you silly girl," Snape said lazily as the snake slithered forward with each of her step back. "I shall get rid of it as I believe it has served its purpose…"

"Allow me!" shouted Lockhart, before Snape could say another word. He flicked his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered back towards Daisy who in her haste to back away had tripped on her robes and stumbled backwards and now sat watching, transfixed with fear. The snake raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike. She was going to die at the hands of Gilderoy Lockhart. Perhaps Gribbs wasn't crazy at all; perhaps Lockhart _was_ a criminal mastermind…

But the snake didn't strike. Her life had begun to flash before her eyes – she was now pretty certain her first bit of accidental magic had involved her brother and Legos – when a hissing sound brought it to a halt, and it, along with everyone else in the Hall turned to its source: Harry. He seemed relieved, even more when the snake hissed something back, and slithered calmly over Daisy's legs, still hissing as he went. The Hall was silent; even Snape, with his wand poised, did nothing, the look on his face shrewd and calculating. She was very much reminded of the incident at the zoo in the reptile House where an equally scary snake had been released and her brother suddenly found himself on the wrong side of the glass. At least her father could sleep in comfort knowing that he had rightly locked Harry up in his cupboard for a fortnight.

"H-Harry," Daisy said as she felt it coiling itself around her, surprisingly warm for a cold-blooded creature. "W-what's going on?"

"He likes your body warmth," Harry said.

"Oh, h-how lovely!" Daisy might have attempted to pet it, if it's tongue did not flick out against her skin, causing her to freeze up in fear. "Would someone _please_ get it off of me?"

Harry was the only one who seemed to find the situation funny, smirking at Daisy's relieved slump as Snape removed the snake in a puff of black cloud; he only noticed the wide-eyed stares as he was pulling her to her feet. Even Malfoy had lost his smirk and was staring at the pair, his expression unreadable.

"Well, that was certainly an… _interesting_ first meeting of our little club," Lockhart said, breaking the stunned silence. He cleared his throat. "I think now would be a good time for you all to head back to your Common Rooms. I look forward to seeing you all after the holidays!"

"No one's looking forward to seeing him," Daisy muttered to Harry, as they waited for the Great Hall to empty before they attempted to leave. Many of the students were hurrying out before Harry should try and leave, casting backward glances in their hushed conversations. Even Lockhart thought twice about patting Harry jovially on the back, contenting instead with a bright smile and a wink – at Daisy. Her last thoughts swirled around her mind as she watched his retreating back. No, he hadn't -he was just a buffoon. He hadn't just tried to kill her by making it look like his incompetency – right? That would be much too clever for a – he was a Ravenclaw. Daisy felt like she'd just been punched in the guts. Lockhart had been a Ravenclaw. And he was trying to kill her. Evidently. Well, quite possibly. Obviously. Maybe.

"You didn't tell us you were a Parselmouth!" Ron exclaimed, pulling Daisy out of her worrying thoughts and back to the situation at hand. There were only a few stragglers left, most being attended to by an impatient Snape where his spell hadn't quite cancelled out the effects of whatever they had been hit with. Harry gave him a confused look. "You can speak to snakes!"

"Luckily," Harry said, casting a glance at Daisy, "What were Snape and Malfoy playing at sending a poisonous snake her way? If I hadn't said something he wouldn't have realised she wasn't an enemy."

"What I think Weasley is trying to say," Millicent said, eyeing Harry with the same look Malfoy and Snape had had, "is that Parseltongue is an extremely rare gift. A gift that the Heir of Slytherin would no doubt have."

"What?"

"Salazar Slytherin isn't just famous for hating Muggleborns," Hermione supplied. "He was also able to talk to snakes – that's why the snake is the emblem for Slytherin House. Honestly Harry, you've still not read any copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ have you?"

Harry was still trying to grasp what was going. "So, you're telling me that Slytherin was the only guy in the entire world to ever speak Parsley-tongue and because I can sometimes understand snakes, _I'm_ his heir?"

"You're one of his heirs," Daisy corrected. "Though how you ended up in Gryffindor, that's an other question."

"The same way you ended up in Slytherin," Harry snapped.

Realisation dawned on Daisy's face. "That's it! The Hat gave you Slytherin as a _choice_, didn't it? You could have just as easily been a Slytherin but-"

Harry didn't want to hear this. "Look, this is ridiculous – I'm not the Heir of Slytherin!"

"_An_ heir, Harry," Daisy stressed, her eyes lighting up. She couldn't believe what was happening – never could she have calculated it, but this was exactly what she had secretly prayed for. "He has to have more than one – it's been like what, a thousand years - and even if you're not, you can still speak to snakes. Which means…"

"Dursley! Bullstrode!" The group jumped at the voice, having been too engrossed in their conversation to realise that Snape had finished with the last student, and now stood by the door, apparently waiting for them to leave. "I believe the Common Room is this way."

"Coming, sir!" Daisy shot over shoulder. "Look, Harry, don't worry. This is good news-"

"If you do not clear this hall within the next 30 seconds you will all wish that you never received your acceptance letters," Snape cut across. "Potter, Granger, Weasley – get to your Common Room. Bullstrode and Dursley, after your behaviour today, I wouldn't want to be pushing my luck."

"We'll talk tomorrow," Daisy whispered to Harry before they parted ways in the Entrance Hall.

"I would suggest abandoning whatever ridiculous plan you're currently cooking up, Miss Dursley," Snape said as he escorted them to the Common Room, apparently not trusting them to reach it without him. "Assuming you wish to stay at Hogwarts."

"Sir, I did not explode Crabbe's cauldron," Daisy tried as they reached the Common Room entrance. "I swear to you – I wouldn't."

"Wouldn't you? Just like you wouldn't smash Gobstones into a fellow students face, hex another student and allow Granger to take the blame, humiliate a Hogwarts Professor or _lie to me_?" Daisy unconsciously shrunk back from her towering Head of House. "Your actions have consequences Miss Dursley, and you will find that you cannot control things as easily as you assume you can."

"Just because it isn't easy, sir, doesn't mean I can't."

"Need I remind you-"

"No, you need not remind me, sir," Daisy snapped through gritted teeth. "I am going to fight, and if you don't like it, have me Sorted into Gryffindor. I might even like it there. _Their_ Head of House offered me tea and biscuits when the attacks happened - wanted to check on my well being, how I was holding up. Pretended to care at least. Do what you want, sir, but I am _not_ keeping my head down."

Snape's face came so close that Daisy could make out the pupils in his eyes, his breath on her face as he drove him his point. "You use that tone with me again, Miss Dursley, and you will regret it. I can assure you that Minerva McGonagall is nowhere near as indulgent as you seem to think she is. I had better not see you in my office until the end of the school year. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"_That's_ why Snape hates you," Millicent said as the made their way into the Common Room, the sound of Snape stalking off fading away behind them.

"Who cares about Snape anymore?" Daisy said, smiling at the hush that fell on the Common Room as they entered. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the topic of conversation had been. "Just look. No one is assuming anything now. They all think they know."

"What are you doing?" Millicent hissed as Daisy made her way to one of the fireplaces.

"Prefect Donahue," Daisy smiled as she neared him. "I think you're in my seat."

Donahue looked like he wanted to argue, or at least burn her to the ground with the look of hatred on his face, but his friends moved before he had the chance to. And what was a Slytherin without his friends to assure his fall? He closed the open books before him, and stood up slowly and deliberately, daring anyone watching him to mock him for moving. To add insult to injury, it was the chair he had been occupying rather than any others that Daisy flopped into, making herself comfortable. She intended to remain there for the duration of winter.

"This is all going to your head," Millicent said as she took a seat next to Daisy, though her actions were slower – cautious. She didn't necessarily care about what they thought of her, but she did care about the consequences. Daisy seemed to have forgotten that Harry wasn't really the Heir and one of these days the truth would come out - and then what?

"Is it though?" Daisy asked as she stared into the fire. "Now I know Harry is a Parselmouth, I can use that. Find _the_ Heir using _an_ Heir." She turned to Millicent, eyes alight with excitement and the reflection of the amber flames on the clear blue. "I won't just be the Slytherin Mudblood anymore - I won't just be cousin to Harry Potter, Heir of Potter and quite possibly Slytherin, the Boy-Who-Lived and defeater of You-Know-Who. I'm going to be Daisy Dursley, the second year who found the Chambers of Secrets."

* * *

_A/N: Hands up if you weren't expecting that. If you were, may I remind you Legilimency is illegal. Can you imagine if I'd written this chapter as: "The next day, Daisy walked to Charms. She stopped to check her reflection. The next thing she knew, it was May, and they were in the middle of a wizarding war. Who the hell was Tom Riddle, and where was Harry?" Actually, why didn't I just do that? Sigh. That might have made for some awesome lazy writing. I'm sensing a future one shot…_

_Anyway, I have exams coming up so updates will slow down even more, but I like to write in my downtime, so you never know – a chapter might pop up between now and the end of June. In the meantime, let me know what you think, what you're speculating - is Filch an Heir of Slytherin? Are Kettleburn and Snape secretly married and Daisy's real parents? Will Lockhart be the new Dark Lord? Could these be actual hints? Ha. Thank you for reading, following and reviewing - until next time!_


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

It was a gloriously cold afternoon, warmed with the excitement of the coming Yuletide holiday, the majority of the student population eagerly awaiting the moment they would be on the Hogwarts Express and moving away from the strange happenings of their school. A respite from all the Heir business would be highly welcomed.

"Right, I think that's everyone on my Christmas list done," Daisy announced as she and Millicent dropped off freshly wrapped gifts in the designated Owl Service area. Last year she'd just handed people presents before she left since she'd only felt the need to get gifts for Millicent, Harry and Neville. She'd been pleasantly surprised to find that there was a way for her to get gifts to a list that now contained a dozen or so people without doing much of the legwork herself. "You know, I think I'm going to have to start betting on myself. At this rate Dad's going to start noticing something's up. Gribb's book did not come cheap. What do you reckon? A thousand Galleons on me being the Heir of Slytherin?"

"But you're not!" Millicent snapped for what felt like the hundredth time in a very, very short period of time. In fact, Millicent was very much beginning to feel like she was talking to a bloody wall. "And sooner or later, they _will_ find out – and what's your genius plan for then?"

"By the time they find out, I'll know enough to make a very convincing Heir. When I do find the Chamber, I won't tell anyone right away. I'll use it so people know that I know, but they don't know _what_ I know, so because _I_ know, I'll have the power, you know?"

"No! Daisy, this is a _Bad Idea_. Are you hearing the capitals in my voice, because they're there! I'm not saying this because I don't want you to do this – quite frankly, I don't care what you do, but I'm worried about you. This can only end badly." Millicent pulled Daisy to a halt. "Are you listening to me?"

"Millie, I know what I'm doing," Daisy reassured. "I promise. It's simple, really. I find the Chamber, I find out all of Slytherin's secrets, and then I might as well be the Heir. Let's take Rowena Ravenclaw for example - her heirs are those who can understand knowledge as she once did, right?"

"No, her heirs are direct descendants from her bloody lineage! Her heir is probably in possession of the diadem right this minute! You are a Muggleborn. No way in hell are you-"

"What if one of his descendants was a Squib and the magical gene is recessive?" Daisy insisted. "Would that not explain why Aunt Lily was a witch, or why me and Dudley are twins but not both magical? What if science could explain more than the magical world wants to know?"

For the first time since this conversation had started, Millicent cast a furtive look along the empty corridor they had stopped in, and lowered her voice. "Things like that are unspeakable, Daisy."

"Seriously? That's what Unspeakables do all day? Mix science and magic? And us 'ordinary people' aren't allowed to talk about it? I thought they did amazing experiments, bent the very essence of space and time – not worried about bloody science!"

"No, I said _that_ was unspeakable – you can't talk about certain things like that. The Muggle world can't explain the wizarding world, only the other way is really allowed, acceptable. Like Mum can't ever use Dad as a source, but Dad would be allowed to because he's gaining knowledge from a higher power."

"Are you having me on right now? Because it feels like you are. Please tell me you're kidding. Actually, you know what, don't even bother because I'm just going to assume you're kidding," Daisy dismissed. "I've got to go meet McCaul anyway. Remember the drill?"

"If you're not back by lights out, Owl Professor Snape and hope you're not dead," Millicent sighed, conceding defeat for the moment in time.

"Excellent. I love you Millicent Bullstrode, you know that, right?"

"Whatever."

On the third floor each went their separate ways, Millicent continuing her way back down to the Slytherin Common Room, whilst Daisy made her way to the meeting point, hand firmly on her wand the minute all she could hear was the sound of her own feet and the howling wind outside. The sixth and seventh years were mostly too afraid to do anything but grumble at her but Daisy always had a niggling fear that one day one of them would realise it might be easier to throw a twelve year old Heir of Slytherin out of the window now rather than waiting for her to grow into her magic and become an unstoppable force.

Daisy stopped dead in her tracks when she rounded the corner, and instead of the surly Scots who'd looked like he wanted to hex her into the ground when she'd approached him yesterday and only restrained out of pure Slytherin self-preservation, stood all six foot something of Marcus Flint, brows knitted into a frown, arms crossed, fingers drumming on his arm impatiently.

"What are you doing here?" Daisy blurted out before her brain could connect to her mouth.

"I could ask you the same question," Marcus replied, raising one thick eyebrow. "You can stop looking around. He's not coming."

Daisy's eyes reluctantly stopped searching for any signs of McCaul, and met Marcus' gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Drop the act Dursley. I've had about three people come up to me _today_ practically begging me to sort you out. You've somehow got people believing you're actually the Heir of Slytherin."

"What?" Daisy forced out a laugh. "That's just silly."

"Then explain this to me: how are you, a second year, getting books out of the Restricted Section? How do you, a second year, have a chair by the fire? Why on Earth is Donahue, who's never stopped to even think about how much I'm going to bash him in if he lays a finger on you, all of a sudden scared of _you_?"

"Those are very odd questions, Flint."

He reached inside his robes, and brought out a large leather bound book, holding up it up in a taunting manner. "Why do you need _The British Compendium of Traps and Labyrinths_?"

"Don't open it!" Daisy snapped, as Marcus moved to flip through the book. He stopped, but looked at her expectantly. "You just never know what these books do, you know. Better safe than sorry and all that. "

"You are going to start giving me answers, Dursley, and you are going to start giving them now."

"Could you repeat the question?" Marcus growled, and Daisy took an involuntary step back as he moved closer. She'd never been scared of Marcus before, but she knew what he was like on a temper, so she held her hands up defensively. "Alright – _alright_! But if I show you what I'm up to you, do you promise not to tell anyone?"

"I promise nothing."

"That's hardly fair is it?" His lips curled to reveal gritted teeth. Daisy reconsidered her approach. "Right, okay. Guess you'd better follow me then."

Marcus followed her in silence as they made their way down the staircases and secret passages that made it quite clear that they were heading back down to the dungeons, except that they were taking lesser used route that didn't pass by the main staircase. The main staircase was never a safe bet when you were trying to be inconspicuous. He recognised the Potions classroom she pulled him into, and answered his questioning look after she'd finished placing all the warding and silencing charms she knew and could do, which was frustratingly little.

"I like to work in here because no one ever comes in here - too close to Snape's office," Daisy explained as she gave one of the cupboards a series of taps and produced a small trunk, which she carried to the only work table in the classroom still standing. "And I think it makes Snape feel like he can keep an eye on me because I'm right under his nose. He's probably spying on me but since he's yet to say anything, I can only assume he doesn't care what I'm up to."

"What _are_ you up to?" Marcus asked as he took the stool she offered him.

"I'm going to find the Chambers of Secrets."

"Why? And what are these?"

"Goggles," Daisy smiled, putting on her own pair with a grin. She also handed him a pair of gloves, and brought out some ear mufflers she'd recovered from the Lost & Found Box that apparently very few students knew existed. "Some books can temporarily blind you, others burn your hands or chant out curses. I like to take precautions."

"Why would Dumbledore keep books like that?"

"So they know what the student's been looking at and he or she doesn't try again? No one likes going to the Hospital Wing." All protected, Daisy reached over to the book, and turned the pages. Nothing happened. She flicked through the book, and gave a thumbs up indicating to take off the mufflers at least. "Anyway. I figure if I can make a map of the Slytherin dungeons I can eventually find the Chamber. My biggest problem then is that the place is going to be heavily booby trapped."

"Booby what?"

"You know - warded, cursed. You'd have to be a Head of House or Parseltongue or the Heir of Slytherin himself to stand a chance of getting around them."

"You're none of those things," Marcus pointed out.

"Ah, but I have Harry. See, this is the kind of thing I'm hoping not to run into," she said, tapping to the diagrams she'd just opened up to. For a few moments they were mesmerised by the moving images, depicting rather inventive use of steel spikes, before Daisy turned to Marcus. "You're a Pureblood right?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Technically."

"Do you think I could have access to your family library? Millicent would rather die than grant me access to hers, I don't know how to do translation runes to get much use from Zabinis – and that's assuming those books _are_ susceptible to translation - Nott looked like he was gonna faint when I asked him, Lavender said maybe in the summer, but you-"

He shook his head. "No."

"But _Marcus_," Daisy whined, as she closed the book, and took off her goggles so that she could use the puppy dog eyes to the best effect. "I really need your help in this. The library doesn't have everything I need, and I can't just waltz into the Chamber of Secrets unprepared. I could _die_."

"That's exactly why you need to stop this," Marcus said, taking off his own goggles. "Focus on Gobstones or something. That title isn't going to keep itself you know, and Selena really wants to hold it for three years steady before she graduates."

Daisy pouted. "I would have Quidditch to focus on but _somebody_ decided to pick a no good scrawny brat and a bunch of brooms over me."

Marcus sighed. "Tell me exactly what you're planning and then maybe – _maybe_ - I will have a think about it. Might also talk to my father since I'm not entirely sure where the family library is." He sighed again at the bright look that had appeared on her face, and the renewed vigour with which she dived into her trunk. "I worry about you sometimes."

"You shouldn't but I'm glad you do," Daisy smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, as she laid out scrolls before him. "So this is the bare bones of what I've gathered so far – there's more but I'm training to only think of it when I see these blueprints. I'd hate to have Lockhart steal my memories and steal all the glory. Plus I heard a rumour that Snape can read minds and this doesn't make sense without what's up here, and what's up here doesn't make sense without this. That's the lake, and this is the Common Room – I'm going to need a way to sketch out the layout of the boy's side by the way, so if I could have that and maybe the Prefect routes that would be lovely, Marcus – so then maybe I can spot a pattern in room shifts that would suggest a secret passage and…"

"Why are you trying to find the Chamber again?" Marcus asked as he ran his hands over the scrolls, marvelling at the effort that had gone into it all. He'd never had that much patience with a quill.

"Because I have to. You're the one who told me my name doesn't mean anything in House Slytherin. When I find that Chamber, when I find those secrets, my name will mean everything."

"Not if you die."

"Don't worry about that - I plan to send someone else into the Chamber before me. I was thinking Malfoy actually. He'd do anything to have one up on me that he'd walk straight into a wall of spikes before he realised what was happening. It'd be a tragedy of course, but he'd have died such a noble death, and I-" She pulled her most innocent look, adjusting her voice accordingly, so it was sickeningly sweet, "-barely got out alive Mr Malfoy, but I had to because I promised Draco that I would, that the whole world would know how brave he was. And he was _so_ brave. He barely cried for someone with a metal spike sticking out through his chest."

"You're insane, Dursley," Marcus said, shaking his head.

"Not insane, just ambitious," Daisy winked, grinning as he glared back. "So as I was saying, once you give me access to the boys dormitories, the Prefects' bathroom, the Prefect routes and any secret passages you know, I'll be well on my way. I figure there are multiple entrances, but the ones in the dungeons and the lower floors interest me the most. You see, according to legend, Gryffindor actually occupied the Tower, so this area…"

It was way past dinner and close to curfew by the time they called it a night and emerged from Classroom Three, yawning, stretching and stomachs rumbling. As Daisy skipped off in the direction of the Common Room, promising that she'd received some healthy snacks only this morning from her mother, Marcus turned to the corridor that held Snape's office.

* * *

Daisy boarded the Hogwarts Express a couple of days later, still attempting to find a way to stay at Hogwarts for the winter break, but her mother was having absolutely none of it. And once they were safely nestled in evening rush hour traffic on the way back to Privet Drive from King's Cross Station, Petunia was having none of Daisy's excuses as substitutes for explanations for the Yuletide letter Snape had apparently sent home a couple of days ago.

"He has it in for me!" Daisy insisted, "I haven't done anything!"

"Likely story," Petunia scoffed. "Don't think I can't tell when you take a sneaky fifty Galleons out of the account, young lady!"

"For educational purposes!"

"Your grades at the end of the year had better reflect this. Though I'll find that rather surprising given that you're getting yourself _suspended from classes_! For an entire fortnight? A fortnight! What in God's name did you do, Daisy?"

"I didn't miss much," Daisy shrugged. "I was comparing my notes to Millie's and I actually think I'm practising Defence Against the Dark Arts at a third year level. That's quite impressive, right?"

Petunia's lips pursed, fingers tightening lightly on the steering wheel. "That is not the point."

"Then what is, Mum?"

"You used to be such a good girl, Daisy-bear."

"You mean I didn't used to be a witch," Daisy mumbled.

"Daisy, you know that is not what I meant."

"Whatever. I'm sorry or whatever it is that you want to hear, but since you've already decided you're going to believe Professor Snape over me, there's not much I can do, is there? Since when are you two even friends? I much preferred it when you hated each other."

"He's your Head of House. It's his duty to inform me."

It was Daisy's turn to scoff. "Yeah, right. Yeah, okay? Snape does do a lot for someone who clearly wishes all his students were dead, but he already does a lot more than most Heads of Houses, so why would he go out of his way to keep you informed?"

"Perhaps he's concerned."

"_Or_ perhaps he has it in for me. You're a Muggle - what could he possibly get from keeping you happy?"

Petunia bristled. "My being normal does not make me any less of a parent."

"Yeah," Daisy agreed, sullenly turning her body away from her mother, head resting on the window, "You're still annoying."

The rest of the journey was carried on in silence, and the house didn't feel like Christmas when they pulled up to Privet Drive, even thought it was clear that this year her parents had taken a 'no expenses spared' approach to Christmas decorations this year, both inside and out. If they didn't win _Best Christmas Lights of Little Whinging_ this year, Daisy wasn't sure who would.

"Where's Dad?" Daisy asked as she deposited her stuff at the bottom of the stairs, vowing to take it up later once she'd gotten herself a nice cup of tea and a slice of the chocolate cake sitting on the kitchen table waiting to be devoured. Even if Hogwarts was a million more times interesting than her house, there was nothing quite like home.

"London."

"Oh, right. Yeah, of course. I knew that. Cool."

"He knows you're coming home tonight darling," Petunia said, placing a reassuring kiss on Daisy's head as she crossed the kitchen to grab an apron off of the hooks by the kitchen door. "He's just been very busy lately, what with the holidays coming up."

The tension of the car journey behind them, they settled into a nice catch up conversation. On top of the comings and goings of Privet Drive, Daisy also got an insight into the fascinatingly boring women who Mrs Mason called friends. She was glad that her mother was beginning to think her grown up enough to share things like that, and in turn Daisy shared the Gobstone dramas which didn't seem anywhere near as dramatic. Mrs Ashbury having an affair with her husband's business partner who happened to be her brother-in-law's best friend most definitely trumped the fight that had taken place between some of the Gobstone boys over a missing Rare Stones set.

Dudley came down about an hour later, cursing as he tripped over Daisy's bag, but looking happy enough to see her even if he himself looked like he hadn't slept for days.

"What's this?" Daisy asked as something on the table caught her eye. She lifted up the silver embossed invitation, shaking her head in disbelief as she read the details. She held it up to her mother. "Please don't tell me we're actually going to this."

"Darling, please-" Petunia started, but being reasonable was clearly not something in the Dursley genes. A tantrum had to be thrown first, as evidenced when Daisy cut off her mother with reasons as to why they should not take up the invitation extended to them.

"But what about the Dursley Family Christmas dinner? It's at Aunt Lizzie's this year, and we haven't been to Aunt Lizzie's in ages! What about Uncle Alfie? I haven't seen Uncle Alfie in ages! I miss him – I really do. And Aunt Marge! She won't get to see Dudley! What's Aunt Marge supposed to do without her Duddikins?"

"Don't bother," Dudley mumbled as he opened the fridge, looking for whipped cream to add to his cake, even if the smell of this evening's dinner was already beginning to fill the kitchen. "Trust me, I've already tried everything. The Dursleys are going to the Mason's Christmas Eve Soirée."

"But _Mum_-"

"Thin ice, young lady," Petunia snapped, brandishing the wooden spoon in hand menacingly. "Don't push your luck. We are spending Christmas with the Masons this year and I don't want to hear another word about it unless it's positive. Do I make myself clear?"

"But-"

"Daisy!"

"Yes, Mum," Daisy grumbled, her face already set into a surly look.

"Good."

* * *

The Mason town house was a sight to behold. Fairy lights illuminated the tall terraced building, a white snowflake strewn carpet leading from the pavement, past the iron wrought gates, up the steps and to the open door if you were unable to differentiate it from the row of similarly expensive houses. The Winter Wonderland theme carried on inside the house, matching what Daisy assumed was the existing cream interior – this was her first time here. The familiarity with which her mother and brother had handed over coats and followed the waiter through the corridors suggested that they had been in this house before and often. Her father was already there somewhere, having travelled to London the first thing that morning.

Daisy had tried with difficulty to contain her awe, telling herself she had already seen their summer house and she attended to Hogwarts of all places – Christmas decorations there consisted of live faeries, everlasting icicles and enough enchanted snow to compete with the blizzards often raging outside. Though perhaps that was just it – four months in the wizarding world, and in the Slytherin house especially, meant she had a tendency to forget that the wizarding world did not hold the monopoly on all things magical.

The place was filled with an array of striking people dressed in their very best, an army of waiters moving seamlessly carrying flutes of champagne, hors-d'oeuvres and a selection of soft drinks for the younger members, who either milling about in conversation or hiding behind their mothers skirts. She unfortunately had been dragged away from her parents the moment Nick swept through the open space rooms created no doubt for the purposes of entertaining as many people as they were.

Daisy was now sat on a white leather sofa, sipping lemonade from a champagne flute and trying to toe the line between looking like she'd rather be anywhere else in the world, and looking like she wanted to murder the boy sat beside her.

"Come on, Daisy," Nick smiled, resting a hand on her arm. "You could at least fake a smile."

"And give the impression that I enjoy being here?" Daisy sniffed, moving her arm away.

His hand moved to his heart. "I'm genuinely hurt - you don't hate me nearly this much in your letters. I even thought we were beginning to be friends."

"That's because Mum forwards them for me and I know she can't help herself but read them."

"I don't see what I could have possibly done. I'm a _very_ likeable person." Daisy rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the smile that crossed her face at the toothy grin he was giving her. She couldn't help it sometimes. He was rather good looking. "See, you secretly like me."

"I very publicly don't," Daisy bristled trying to regain her composure. "And to be honest, something about your family changes Dudley and I don't like it one bit. It's like he's allergic to you."

At the mention of Dudley, he caught their eye. He had moved away from the adults, or perhaps been shooed away and ordered to mingle, and now, with a glass of something in hand, he was hovering nervously around the spread of canapés and starters as if he was resisting a pulling force he was slowly losing to. Daisy expected Nick to make a comment along the lines of the fatty not being able to resist food he probably didn't even have the palate for, but he was watching Dudley with a quiet intensity.

"Has he said anything?"

"He doesn't have to say anything," Daisy stated, "I'm his twin."

"Of course. It's so easy to forget." One smile, and Nick had become himself again. Daisy narrowed her eyes questioningly, but she didn't get the chance to ask anything. Nick had already stood up, and extended a hand. "Come on, let's dance."

"No, thank you."

He lowered himself onto the chair, and said in a low voice that sent shivers down Daisy's spine. "I wasn't asking you."

Daisy rolled her eyes, but placed her hand in his nonetheless, pausing to put her glass down on the nearest surface before she was being pulled through the labyrinth of rooms. She wasn't entirely sure where he was expecting to dance, given that most of the people were standing talking over the low background music. They exited out through the double doors that led into a hallway, and entered the ones immediately opposite.

The lighting in this room was much dimmer, and the music louder, and the missing age gap between the children in mother's skirts and the parents could be found.

"Erin!" Nick called as he made his way across the room to a tall dark haired young woman, not much older than they were if Daisy was judging correctly.

"Oh, hey little cousin," Erin greeted, exchanging with him a kiss on the cheek. "And you must be Daisy! I'm Erin – Nick's maternal cousin. Do you want a drink? Nicky dear, go get Daisy a drink. I'll look after her. You're not awful looking. I've met your parents, so I was more than a little worried we might have to get Nick some prescription glasses. And then there's your brother, so I was expecting you to have some cute little cheeks too."

"Can you please not?" Daisy said, moving away from Erin's attempts to pinch her cheeks.

"Oh, bless you, you're so polite. It's quite alright to tell me to fuck off you know."

"I'm quite alright, thanks."

"I went to Our Lady of Grace's for a year, so I know how it goes with you Catholic girls. All meek and mild for the Lower years, and then they give you a bit of freedom and bam! You're worse than bloody townies! Tell me – are there still sightings of the White Nun behind the Little Chapel? You know, the one near the tennis courts? And do they still do that thing where you have to run round the grounds at 5 o'clock in the effin' morning if they find you awake past lights out? I swear I was out there all the bloody time. Good for your figure though, right?"

"Yeah… right," Daisy mumbled, nodding in agreement as she looked around for Nick, for once hoping that he would hurry up. It hadn't even crossed her mind that she might cross someone who attended the boarding school she was supposedly attending! "It's just really…annoying when you were asleep and had nothing to do with it. You know, one person's awake and so the whole dorm pays the price."

Her lie seemed to have worked, because Erin gave her a sympathetic look. "You poor dear. I hate communal dorms - hate them with a passion. Someone _always_ steals your stuff. Don't worry though, if you somehow make it through all the years, you'll get your own room in Year Ten and upwards. I never did though. I was out of there faster than Mother could say '_Erin dear, would it kill you to make an effort?_' But staying in one place isn't our style, is it, Nicky?"

"No, it isn't," Nick conceded as he arrived before Daisy could really go into a panic, carrying the promised drinks. "Here you go."

"Well, I'll be getting back to mingling," Erin said, already waving to a group of who had just arrived. "We'll have to catch up some other time, Daisy - for lunch maybe – so that you can tell me all about this year's Big Prank. That's the best part of the year, don't you think? It was lovely meeting you, though. You are a quiet one though, aren't you?"

"You're just a loudmouth Erin," Nick said, before his cousin turned and it was just the two of them again. "I hope she wasn't too bad. She can be a bit much for some people."

"She was nice, actually," Daisy said, sipping her drink. "The evil must run on your father's side."

"Perhaps you're right. As far as relatives go, she's pretty awesome. Oh, there's Henry!"

He waved them over, and two blond boys, perhaps brothers, approached them.

"Henry, I'd like you to meet Daisy Dursley," Nick introduced. "Daisy, this my best friend, Henry Finch-Fletchley."

Daisy had heard about this Henry, from the hours she had spent in France listening to his ski stories and whatever nonsense that Nick had been getting up to since he was nine and had apparently reached intellectual maturity. But never had she imagined that the grinning blond often next to Nick in photos he would be a Finch-Fletchley.

"Nice to meet you. I've heard quite a bit about you," Henry greeted. "This is my younger brother, Justin."

"Hi." Daisy shook Justin's hand, but wasn't exactly sure how to handle meeting a fellow Hogwarts student, so she turned back to Henry. "I didn't know Nick had friends."

Henry laughed. "He doesn't. It's just an unfortunate case of my trust fund being intrinsically linked to our continued friendship, so I have the wonderful job of tolerating the schmuck."

"You all love me really," Nick said. "Otherwise why go to such lengths to say the contrary?"

"Maybe because we dream that one day you'll actually listen?" Daisy suggested.

Henry laughed. "Nick never said you were funny. Though I wasn't entirely sure what to expect from someone from – err – your social standing. It can be quite hit and miss, can't it? Though I suppose the Masons do have an eye for this thing."

"Every family has to start from somewhere," Nick said before Daisy could tell Henry exactly what she was thinking, given the dark look she cast him over her glass. "How about H and I get a drink? Then I promise you can have that dance."

Daisy merely rolled her eyes when he kissed her forehead, he and Henry heading towards the bar, leaving her and Justin to stare at each other awkwardly, each clutching a drink. She had known that he was a fellow Muggleborn, but never in a million years had she expected to bump into him. In their shared classes he was relatively quiet – Macmillan and Smith did the strutting about, one a little too pompous given that he could still be mistaken for a first year and the latter a bit of a twat.

"Small world, isn't?" Justin said.

"You're telling me," Daisy smiled. "So, you turned down Eton to go to – our school?"

"Wouldn't you? Eton's a great school and everything – I mean, it can't really get better than that, can it - but it was nice to do something my brother wasn't doing. Really nice, actually." He seemed to be finding his shoes as fascinating as Daisy was finding hers. "I haven't seen you at these before – I thought our paths would have crossed if we were in the same circles."

"We're not in the same circles, or at least we weren't until last summer anyway. My Dad's Mr Mason's new business partner."

"Vernon Dursley, right?" Daisy nodded. "Oh, _right_. Yeah, there's been quite a bit of talk about him – even I've heard it, and no one tells me anything since I'm the baby of the family. Didn't realise that he was _your_ father. Father's been saying how he came out of absolutely nowhere. The Masons have been in this business for years, you can trace them right back to the Empire – but your father… Well, it's the usual talk when someone new comes onto the scene. Starts in prep school and never ends, you know?"

"Yeah I guess. How does your family know Mr Mason then?"

"Father and Mr Mason went to school together. Father's also bit of a property enthusiast so they work well together, and Mrs Mason really is quite good at what she does. Do they know about you being…you know…?"

"No, of course not. Statute of Secrecy and all that," Daisy said, trying hard to imagine circumstances in which she'd reveal to anyone outside of her family that she was a witch. "Besides, they'll never find out if Dad can help it, he wouldn't want anything to spoil his plans. I think Nick and I are supposed to get married and take over the business empires or something ridiculous. Like _that's_ going to happen."

"It probably will if they've decided it will," Justin said soberly. 'It's why I picked our school – I got the choice and it took me out of some of their plans. Parents like ours plan entirely too much. At least Mother's really coming round to the idea since I showed her Lockhart's book. It doesn't seem like too much of a waste of time anymore."

"I guess you had more than enough reasons then." She took another sip of her drink, a quite lovely fruit punch with a hint of spices, searching for the next words. "And why did you pick your House?"

Justin looked at her strangely. "You get a choice? I was just Sorted like everyone else."

"Oh right. I had this theory that when the Hat doesn't call out a name straight away it gives a person two House to pick from."

"How was I supposed to know anything about Houses? I'd just arrived."

"I don't know," Daisy shrugged. "It was just a theory. I guess the Hat has its mysterious ways."

Daisy regretted mentioning anything by the way his eyes lit up as something connected his mind. "So the rumours are true? Did you two really choose your own Houses? Is Harry really the-"

"Have you met my brother?" Daisy interrupted as she caught Dudley walking into the room, looking slightly lost. "He goes to Smeltings, not sure if you've heard of it, Nick goes there as well – Dudley!" She waved Dudley over. "Dudley, I'd like you to meet Justin Finch-Fletchley. We go to school together. And this is my brother, Dudley Dursley."

"He's like you?" Dudley asked. "Normal parents?"

"Yup."

He eyed Justin for another moment before sticking out a chubby hand. "Nice to meet you."

* * *

The evening was a far cry from the Dursley Christmas they knew and loved but it was…tolerable. Having Justin by her side for most of the night helped more than she liked to admit; it was his quick thinking that got her out of a pinch when she was introduced to someone who had graduated from Our Lady of Grace only last year by distracting her with talks of polo, he wasn't a terrible dancer, he was a good sport about his attempts to find out more about the Heir business being rebuffed, and best of all, he got along just fine with Dudley.

Dudley himself wondered vaguely if the distinct lack of hatred he felt towards the younger Finch-Fletchley had something to do with his being magic. After all, Justin's brother seemed just as bad as Nick. The two of them were quite tipsy by the end of the night, which made Dudley stick to his sister as close as he could. He'd heard what some of the older Smeltings boys had to say about girls – and what they would like to do to them – and Daisy wasn't just any girl, she was his sister.

As nice as it was hanging out with Justin and making small talk with people they hardly knew and only had the Masons in common with (and most with already formed opinions about them judged on their father), the Dursley twins were looking forward to going back to Privet Drive. So their faces displayed thinly veiled horror when the Masons insisted that they stay for Christmas rather than risk the elements; the elements being the light snow shower that occasionally graced London with its presence this time of year. Rain was more likely than snow on Christmas.

"Mum," Daisy hissed as they watched Vernon insist that they couldn't impose in a way that suggested he had every intention of accepting the offer, "Stop him! I don't want to stay here for Christmas."

"Shh! You're being rude Daisy," Petunia replied, keeping a forced smile in the direction of the hosts.

"I don't want to stay here Mum," Dudley added from the other side. "Please."

"Is anything the matter, Petunia?" Mr Mason asked, his attention caught by the whispers, and the none too pleased looks on Daisy and Dudley's faces, however they tried to hide them.

"No, of course not. Everything is fine," Petunia was quick to insist, "The children were just reminding me of our Christmas traditions. It's just little things, but Dudley and Daisy aren't always keen on change, especially where their presents are involved."

"Oh, that's right – how silly of us," Mrs Mason said, "We've gotten so close over the past couple of months, it didn't even occur to me that you celebrate Christmas in a way that's entirely different to ours. We'll have Eduardo drive you home. He's the safest driver I know."

"Nonsense," Vernon said, his dark eyes flashing a warning in his wife's direction, "What better time to start new traditions? I doubt that this will be the last Christmas we spend together."

Mrs Mason didn't look quite convinced. "Are you quite sure? What do you say Petunia, dear? Us mothers know best. Though I'm sure Nick would love the company, I'd hate for the twins to feel out of sorts."

"It's no problem," Petunia said, hoping that her smile looked more tired than forced, because she really was rather tired of forcing it. "We'd love to stay if you'll have us."

Though as she said those words, Petunia noticed that whilst Daisy beside her only gave a disappointed slump, Dudley moved away from her and did not respond to her coos of good night as they separated into respective guest rooms.

* * *

Daisy didn't realise she had fallen asleep until she heard knocking on her door the next morning. She'd lain awake for most of the night staring up at the embossed ceiling, mentally hashing out the kinks in the plans she had for when she returned to Hogwarts. In a rare moment of Yuletide humility and sleepiness, Daisy had had to admit even to herself that completing her map of the Slytherin dungeons was going to be no easy task. Actually finding the Chamber before the end of the school year was beginning to feel near impossible.

Rubbing tired eyes, she unlocked the door warily and was glad to be greeted with her mother's face already made up and ready to face the day. Petunia was dressed in an outfit that Daisy had never seen. She assumed it was a loan from Mrs Mason, offered with the customary line of "This old thing, you take it" or perhaps it had been a Christmas present like the dress in the box that her mother handed her.

"We'll be home soon enough," Petunia said, kissing her daughter's forehead as she headed out of the to wake up Dudley. "Then we can have our Christmas."

It felt strange that the first present she opened on Christmas Day wasn't the one she and her brother exchanged before ripping into the rest of theirs.

Dudley looked terrible, even though he too seemed to be dressed in a Mason gift, his hair neatly brushed, and his forest green tie matching the sash on Daisy's burgundy dress. He looked worse than Nick, who was sporting a bruised face as he strolled into the dining area, and took his seat with a Merry Christmas to those already seated. Daisy mumbled her response. Dudley didn't say anything. It felt very much like they were back in France, but with no French food to be seen, so that couldn't be blamed for his poor appetite. That said, Daisy was finding it hard to eat anything she'd put on her plate out of politeness, especially with Nick sitting across the table looking pretty happy with himself, regardless of everything.

"What has gotten into you two?" Petunia asked, as the plates were cleared away. "You would think it wasn't Christmas."

Much to her dismay, when Daisy opened her mouth to say that they were just tired and wanting to get home, she started crying instead – real, heavy tears that she could not stop. Nick's jaw tightened, Mr Mason gave her a strange look that might have passed off as concern and Dudley looked like he didn't even have it in him to react.

"Daisy-bear, what's the matter?"

"I'm sure she's just tired," Vernon apologised, "She doesn't always sleep well in new places, and things at school have been hard, haven't they poppet?"

"No – school is fine. Nick – Nick –" Daisy started, wiping at her eyes with her napkin, unaided by the concern that her mother was showing. If she told the truth, Daisy knew her mother would believe her. And Mrs Mason too by the way she rounded on her son.

"What did you do to her?" Mrs Mason demanded, her usual smiling face wracked with anger.

"I didn't _do_ anything!" Nick insisted. "Tell them I didn't do anything to you!"

"What did you do to her?" Petunia demanded, leaving her seat at her side of the table to crouch by Daisy, taking the napkin from her and helping her to dry her tears. "Baby, you tell me what he did to you, and I promise I will make it better."

"This is ridiculous! The only thing that _I_ did to _her_ was forgive her after she went absolutely berserk on me. I didn't punch myself in the fucking face did I?"

"Language, Nick," Mr Mason scolded mildly, though he seemed eerily calm as the scene unfolded before him. Vernon was in a similar state which was rather unusual for him in situations like these – he always had a dozen or two excuses tumbling out of his mouth. "I didn't want to wake you Vernon, Petunia but sadly I must attest that Daisy does have quite a mean right hook. I thought we'd settled the differences last night, dear?"

"What are you talking about?" Daisy asked, giving her eyes one final wipe as everyone – bar Dudley – turned to look at her, unsure of what to make of this. "Nick was the one who-"

"-started it, yes" Mr Mason continued, "But you most certainly finished it."

"It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't spent all night dancing with Justin," Nick said, the worry now gone from his face with his father's backing. "I'm the one you're going to marry – not him."

"Are you actually kidding me?" Daisy snapped, looking from father to son, incredulous at how easily the lies flew out of their mouths. "I didn't touch him. Mum, please, you have to believe me - I didn't lay a finger on him. Last night, he came into my room – said something about me being his, that Dad had –"

"That is enough!" her father boomed, making Daisy jump, even if she knew that he was still using his office voice. His moustache was twitching dangerously as he turned to their hosts. "I'm very sorry Francis, Cheryl – it would seem that Daisy has made it a Yuletide tradition to let out her frustrations from school on other people. Last year she would have beat up her own brother had we not walked in to stop it. I'm beginning to think it's a problem."

"That was completely different! And I didn't – I'm telling the truth!" She hated the way that doubt was beginning to creep into Mrs Mason's eyes as she felt inclined to believe the men at the table. "Dudley was there. Dudley tell them what happened." Dudley was forced to look up but he didn't speak, instead looking at each face in turn, as if in a dream. "Dudley!"

"I'm sorry Daisy," he said, "I can't…"

"Your brother's lied enough for you in the past, Daisy," Vernon continued. "Now if you would kindly own up to what you've done, then perhaps we can continue enjoying Christmas."

Tears of frustration continued to prick the edges of Daisy's eyes, no matter how much she willed them to stop. She couldn't understand what was going on, why they were all lying and why Dudley couldn't just tell the truth. The women didn't know what to believe. Petunia stayed close to her, trying to at least get her to stop crying. Mrs Mason tried to turn to understanding as confusion was getting her no closer to the truth.

"Look, Daisy – if you're feeling guilty about what you did, then you should just say," Mrs Mason said, trying to sound as reassuring and supportive as she could to someone who had apparently assaulted her baby. "I'm sure Nick's already forgiven you if he's not given up this silly notion that you two are going to end up married-"

"It's not silly Mother," Nick interjected.

"-and I can't be angry at you if you're sorry. We can get you help. My niece Erin had quite an unmanageable temper until we found the right person to help her. You can get all sorts of help these days. And if we're going to be family, we'll take the good and the bad."

"Indeed," Mr Mason agreed, lacing his fingers with his wife's in their usual united front. "Just like you're all quite understanding of Cheryl's ornithophobia, we understand that this can be a hard time for any teenager. It's why I didn't mention anything before Daisy – I didn't want to ruin Christmas for you when Nick clearly doesn't care."

"It was just an argument," Nick added, though his voice was a little too sweet to be genuine. "I'm sorry if I provoked you - I did get quite heated about the whole Justin issue. Perhaps we'll have to find less physical ways to sort out our differences."

Daisy felt like she might never forgive her father when he turned to her and said, "I'm sure Daisy is sorry."

Her mother looked at her expectantly. "Daisy?"

This wasn't the Christmas she had hoped for. She wiped her eyes, knowing when to accept when she was outnumbered. Each of Daisy's attempts to say something had been stopped by either Mr Mason or her father, who for some reason had decided that protecting Nick was more important than his little girl. Perhaps everything that Nick had said had been true. His word against hers, even a barefaced lie, would always be stronger.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Mason," Daisy said quietly. "I'm sure you want better for your son."

If Cheryl Mason had liked Daisy before, it was clearly no longer the case. Coal lined eyes looked on coldly, and her response too calm, too controlled, to have been what she really wanted to say. "I think perhaps we should call it a day."

Petunia returned the look, keeping a hand on Daisy's shoulder as she stood up. Though she knew Daisy was a nightmare, she also knew she had taught her daughter well enough not to cry at a stranger's dinner table, and that Daisy cared enough about her father's career rather than punch the Mason boy, though nobody would blame her. And something very strange was going on with her Duddikins.

"I think you're right."

* * *

Daisy had expected Dudley to stand up for her. In fact, she'd expected him to speak at least once during their trip home which was a very long tirade from their father about how to act in public – but he just sat there, and stared out of the window. By the time they reached home, the taxi driver was subject to a particularly heated argument between her parents about the sort of people the Mason family actually was. Perhaps all the screaming made it easy to ignore the fact that Dudley went straight up to his room without a second glance at the pile of presents under the Christmas tree. Her father did the same thing soon after, but that was most likely because he'd washed down four-star Christmas cuisine with equally expensive wine in more than moderate quantities, and arguing that did not end in a business deal often tired him out.

Daisy attempted to follow suit but apparently today was not her day. She was told to get changed and come down to help with the cleaning while her mother made some Christmas dinner in case the boys woke up hungry. Daisy was too tired to argue. Polishing already cleaned silverware, dusting spotless frames and cabinet tops and vacuuming seemed like less effort than arguing her mother when she was in one of her cleaning and cooking frenzies. The house was already clean and there was no way that they would eat as much food as she was making.

Later that evening, Vernon re-emerged, shrugging on his coat as he looked around for his car keys. Daisy looked up from her seat on the sofa through half-lidded eyes. She had begun to drift off to _The Wizard of Oz_.

"Where are you going?" she asked, as she watched him move from one place to another in the living room, the open ends of his grey suit jacket every so now and then brushing against something and threatening to send it flying to the floor.

"The flat." He lifted up a stack of knitting and business magazines from the coffee table. "I have some business I need to take care of before the New Year."

"Why don't you just live in London since you love it so much?"

"I would, we all would," her father mumbled, as he moved her aside to feel down the side of the sofa, "if it wasn't for your lot."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He pocketed his keys. "Ask your mother."

But her mother suddenly developed a headache at the question, and instead Daisy was sent to carry up the fifth cup of tea that day that her brother was just going to ignore. Moving the cold ones to his desk – he could clear them up himself later – she retired to her own room, flopping onto the bunk bed with a sigh.

As far Christmas' went, this had the be the worst one thus far.

Though she knew she wasn't allowed to open the presents waiting for her downstairs, that didn't mean she couldn't open the ones from her wizarding friends. Daisy wasn't quite sure how they'd arrived – they'd just been sat on the desk that morning when they got back, but she had an inkling her mother had something to do with it.

There was quite a sizeable pile, and having to open them with gardening gloves and her goggles from an old Chemistry set just in case gave her a temporary distraction from everything that had gone on that day.

Millicent had gotten her a set of different quills, including miniature vials of a variety of inks, neatly set in a wooden box with intricate carvings that surely had a meaning that Millicent knew Daisy would love spending her time trying decipher. She'd also been sure to include Christmas issues of Potions periodicals. Daisy smiled as she flicked through _Potioneers_, being forced to admit that since Halloween she had done little else with her spare time but study and contemplate the Heir issue. Millicent might call it obsession, but Daisy preferred to think of it as a hobby, and a lot more satisfying that Gobstones. It wasn't her fault she wasn't on the Quidditch Team – then she might spend her time thinking about a less ambitious course of glory.

Much to her surprise, Zabini had given her a gift, a book. 'The Muggleborn Degeneration', which was a apparently '_a collection of essays centred around today's debate about whether the admittance of Muggleborn wizard and witches has a degenerate effect on magic as a whole._' Typical, and yet Daisy was oddly pleased with the tome; the leather felt expensive - the paper certainly was even if the words written on it would no doubt turn out to be utter rubbish - and Zabini had spent money on her, despite constant claiming she was nothing but a Mudblood. If _he_ was trying to get into her good books, then she was most definitely doing something right.

Ron's gift was rather surprising too. Even if it was only chocolate (she too had only gifted Harry's friends with chocolate to accompany a Christmas card), it looked rather more expensive than something she had expected from a Weasley. It made more sense when she read the note, squinting a little to decipher the slanting scratch. _I'm glad I'm friends with the Heir, too. The heir of House Potter, that is_. She laughed out loud at that one. She was rather glad her brother hadn't killed him. At least he appreciated making the best of a situation.

She opened Harry's gift last, and against the array of opened presents now on her desk, was disappointed to find nothing more than worn leather notebook that looked like it had seen more years than her. She'd gotten him brand new Quidditch accessories! It wasn't even a notebook – it looked more like some old diary from 1943, that had once belonged to a certain T. M. Riddle. The name was familiar to her though, even if she couldn't quite place it. As she flipped through it a Christmas card fell out.

_Belonged to an old Head Boy who won a Special Services to the School Award. Thought you might like something to inspire you to do something other than RUIN MY LIFE. Merry Christmas, Daisy. Love Harry_.

She smiled at the note. Accusing Harry of ruining her life was her favourite line. Well, it wasn't the best present but it was the thought that counted. Daisy turned the diary over in her hands; she _did_ need a new notebook. She'd fill the pages since Riddle hadn't bothered to do so. Or maybe he'd lost it at Hogwarts before he got the chance to – it was in pretty good condition for its age. Grabbing a self-inking quill from her new set, she settled into her bunk.

Smoothing out the pages, she bit on the tip of the quill pensively before writing.

- I never thought I'd say this, but I think Christmas might be the worst time of the year.

She frowned as her words sunk into the page. She watched, wide eyed, as more words appeared.

_- Christmas _is_ the worst time of year_.

Her heart was racing.

- Who are you?

Again the words disappeared, before the different scrawl took its place.

_- Who are __you__?_

- I'm Daisy Dursley.

- _Hello Daisy. My name is Tom_.

* * *

_A/N: I can't believe my eyes either – it's an update! About bloody time, too right? Many apologies for the delay. This chapter seriously fought me and refused to be anywhere near acceptable for a long time, and then grew by several thousand words as I tried to sort of fix it… but yah, hope you peeps like it, and don't hate me _too_ much. Thank you for reading, reviewing and subscribing as always! Until next time (which really should be some time this year)!_


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tom Riddle's diary had spoken back to her.

No, this Tom character had spoken to her – from within a diary. Or The Diary, as Daisy had began referring to it over the course of the night as she pored over every single textbook at her disposition for an answer to this conundrum before her. Diaries weren't supposed to talk back, not even in the wizarding world – that much she knew. If it wasn't the Christmas period, she would have already sent off for a mail-order form from Flourish & Botts for any relevant literature, but she knew that they wouldn't be delivered until she back at Hogwarts. The time of year was also making it difficult for Petunia to procure a GP to come and see what was wrong with her Duddikins.

The Diary was at the forefront of Daisy's mind as she sat at the silent kitchen table, dutifully eating typical Boxing Day leftovers even though they had hardly had a typical Christmas. Despite her brother and father's absence, her mother had still felt it necessary to lay out a sumptuous lunch that they both picked at whilst searching for words to fill the silence.

"Are you okay, Daisy-bear?" Petunia asked, having one of those rare moments where she wished her little girl might have the same appetite as her brother's. "You look a little pale."

"I just didn't sleep much," Daisy reassured. "I was worried about Dudley."

This wasn't entirely a lie. In her searching frenzy she'd taken a break for a glass of water, and been slightly put out to not find her brother sat on the sofa watching television. It felt like they could both do with one of their moments. It _had_ occurred to her that perhaps he had gone down earlier and hoped to find her, and for a few moments she paused outside of his door, but each time she raised her hand to knock, she came to the realisation she didn't know what to say. She didn't have anything to say, not when she wasn't entirely sure what was going on or that she wouldn't accidentally go off on a rant about not sticking up for her. Figuring out the talking diary seemed a lot less difficult.

"Your son is sick, Vernon," Daisy heard her mother hiss down the phone as she made her way back up to her room, "and it is Boxing Day. We should be watching television marathons or going to exchange gifts – you should be here, with your family. I don't care about renovations – yes, well done for getting them to work over the holidays, but I do not care. Vernon, just get here – _now_. What do you mean I'm taking a tone with you? What kind of tone do you expect when-"

Back in her room, Daisy stood staring at the diary she had placed on the desk. Would she really wait until she was back at Hogwarts to write in it again? She sat down in the chair and stared at it for a few more moments. Then she took it in her hands, flipping through the pages, feeling its weight in each hand. Had she been able to use magic, she might have used the basic spell detection spells she'd taught herself in the past couple of weeks. They might have convinced her that what she was itching to do was indeed a terrible idea. Instead she picked up a quill and reassured herself that even though curiosity supposedly killed the cat, a cat had nine lives for a reason. _And_ she was related to Harry Potter – that had to count for something. Flipping to a random page, she held her breath and wrote.

- What are you?

_- I was beginning to worry I had scared you off._

- What _are_ you?

She made sure to press hard on the are to stress her point.

_- You could say that I am a memory conserved within the pages of this diary. _

Daisy stared at the neat writing. A memory? Before she could respond, the writing erased itself, replaced by more.

_- If you don't mind me asking, how did you come by this diary?_

- It was a Christmas present.

_- What an awful Christmas present. What use could you have possibly had with an old diary?_

- I was going to write in it. I just didn't expect it to write back.

Daisy paused for a moment, biting the end of her quill as her mind continued to whirl with thoughts and questions about this so-called memory.

- You must be old.

_- What makes you say that?_

- You conserved your memory in a book. That sounds like powerful magic. Possibly dark.

_- I was the best student of my time. I'm sixteen._

- I don't believe you.

_- Are you always this cautious, Daisy? First you spend the whole night trying to find all – if any – information on similar objects to myself, and now you refuse to believe I may actually be sixteen. _

- What makes you think I spent the night doing that?

_- It's exactly what I would have done. And that _is_ what you did, is it not?_

* * *

The Diary wrapped tightly in layers of clothes secured with spare bits of ribbon and tucked away into the furthest corner of her wardrobe, Daisy went to find some sort of comfort or distraction in her brother. She knocked a few times and when he did not answer, she invited herself in. Cold cups of tea and uneaten sandwiches decorated his room, and the worry for Dudley momentarily eclipsed any worry for this dark psychic wizard in a diary that Harry had apparently thought she needed in her life. As if some supposed Heir of Slytherin after her wasn't bad enough.

"Dudley?" She found a space on his bed, and curled up around him as she had done in France. When she heard no response, she called his name again, this time patting the covers. "Dudley?"

"_What_?"

"Hypothetically speaking, what would you do if someone got you a teddy bear for Christmas and it…and it started talking back to you?"

Whilst his first response had been slow, this muffled response came instantly. "Burn it."

"But what if it meant you no harm?"

"It's a bloody talking teddy bear," Dudley pointed out, "it's going to end up killing you in your sleep."

Daisy couldn't really argue with this sound reasoning. After all, Dudley had watched more horror films than she had, and he rarely answered if he didn't have an answer. Dudley was quite straight-forward like that.

She sighed, and rested her head on the Dudley lump. She couldn't be angry at him, not when he was like this. "Don't you want to open your presents?"

"Did you get me a talking teddy bear?" came the muffled reply. The corners of Daisy's mouth lifted into what might have been a grin had she not been talking to her brother from underneath his covers.

"Dudley?"

"What?"

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Silence filled the room. Daisy had thought he'd ignored the question until she had to move to avoid getting hit as the duvet was flipped up to reveal her brother. Dudley liked awful. He'd achieved Malfoy-levels of paleness that his ruddy complexion normally never allowed and the dark bags under his blue eyes betrayed that he had probably not slept for the past couple of nights.

"Make everything go back to normal."

She reached out a tentative hand to his hair, and was grateful that he allowed this touch. He was always adamant that boys should not be soppy, and this included any voluntary physical contact with a female member of the family. Daisy shifted, so that she was leaning against the wall by his bed, allowing him to rest his head on her lap. They sat like that for a while, enjoying the calm of each other's company, Daisy running a hand through his blond strands, so similar to hers, if only shorter. It was nice that they could do this kind of thing now. She wanted to ask a hundred questions about the Masons, what was going on and if he was sure if he didn't want any ice or something for his hand, but it was unspoken rule that they did not speak about the things that were actually bothering them. They weren't quite there yet.

"Remember that story Mum always used to tell us when we were little?" Daisy said after awhile, when the streetlights outside had turned on, casting an orange glow into his bedroom. "The one with the two princesses, the good prince and the evil prince?"

She wondered if he was asleep, but he took a moment to shift so he was looking up at her, a thoughtful look on his face. "The one where they all die in the end?"

"They don't _all_ die. The eldest survives and marries a Duke from the kingdom nearby, and they live happily ever after, and the evil prince spends the rest of his life in Hell or something."

"Don't you have to die to go to hell?" Dudley pointed out. "How did the Elders manage to send him there without killing him?"

"Maybe the Elders had magic," Daisy suggested, slightly surprised that her brother remembered their bedtime story with so much detail, and that he had actually thought about it. Perhaps because she was always hailed as the smart one, she had forgotten that just because he tended to primarily use his brain to control his fists, play videogames and watch television, it didn't mean that was all it could do.

"Nah, Mum would have never told us a story about magic. They must have prayed for him to be taken down to Hell. Or maybe they gave him to Satan in exchange for living happily ever after."

"Maybe. But you can have hell on earth though, can't you?"

"Yeah," Dudley agreed after awhile, the weariness returning to his voice, as he shifted away from her. "Yeah, you can."

* * *

Uncertain if her visit had achieved much, Daisy was glad to hear the sound of running water not long after she had left indicating that her brother was out of bed. She was even happier for him to interrupt her reading of Zabini's gift so that they could go downstairs and finally rip into their new presents. The Masons were put behind them as they sat admiring this year's bounty, hot chocolate topped with marshmallows and whipped cream in hand. Dudley was happily telling her about the latest games to be added to his collection ("I'll have to teach you how to play this one," he said, holding up a game with a heavily suited soldiers dashing across a background of chaos, "Piers has been well weird lately, and it's so much better with someone else. You'll just have to do"), planning a trip to visit Aunt Marge to make good use of his new camera, as well as an array of gadgets sold around this time of year usually attached to key rings, clothes that no doubt fit him less snugly than his current ones and lots of treats. Daisy was glad to note that her mother had taken some of her complaints to heart, and amongst all the usual things that were clearly "girly" (Daisy was doubting when she'd find the time to use the nail design set, make friendship bracelets and use all glitter she now owned), there were some clothes and accessories that were at least a nod to her Hogwarts House.

Petunia and the twins were tucked up under a blanket on the sofa, a box of Christmas biscuits between them, ready to watch _A Christmas Carol_ when the sound of the front door signalled Vernon's return home. Though he wasn't exactly everyone's favourite family member at the moment – only his wife said a word to him, and even that was curt - his presence on the armchair added a normalcy that they had all been craving.

Dudley had dozed off by the end of the film, and they let him sleep, covering him with the blanket but leaving the television on quiet, as he was prone to wake up when the set was suddenly switched off. Daisy followed her mother into the kitchen, not quite sure if she wanted to go upstairs and face what was upstairs in her wardrobe.

"We've got a letter from her lot," Vernon said as he walked into the kitchen, carrying the tell-tale parchment letter. "Bloody freaks can't even respect the holidays. Don't their postmen need to spend time with their family? Guess I should be grateful they've stopped sending bloody owls. _We apologise for any inconvenience caused_ my backside! Cheryl won't have dinner round here anymore all because off-"

Daisy turned from the recipe book she'd been flipping through at the silence. Her father's face was usually quite descriptive of his emotions unless he was keeping them in check, which was rare when they were indoors. A red face could mean anything, but when it was accompanied by the furrow of his heavy brows instead of the twitching of the moustache and the ever darkening shades in his face, it meant he wasn't angry but upset about something. What could have upset him?

Her mother seemed to be thinking the same thing. She'd assumed it was a bank statement. "Vernon? What's the matter?"

"She's not going back to that school!" he snapped.

"What?" Daisy asked, confused as what could possibly be in a letter that would provoke such a reaction. "What do you mean I'm not going back?"

"According to this, Muggleborns are being attacked! That's what they call, you isn't? _Dear Mr and Mrs Dursley, It is my deepest displeasure to inform you that the Chamber of Secrets is once again open. The opening of this Chamber has long been synonymous with attacks on Muggleborn children – the last time it was allegedly opened it resulted in the death of a student. Whilst we are doing everything in our power to get to the bottom of this, without knowing the perpetrator we cannot assure the safety of our Muggleborn students. One Muggleborn child is currently in the Hospital Wing. In informing you of this we wish to allow you to make an informed decision about your child's current attendance at_ Hogwash School of Utter Rubbish and Tomfoolery! You are not going back to that school!"

Daisy turned to her mother, who could always counted on to be the reasonable one in the family. "Mum-"

"Is this true, Daisy?" Petunia demanded, "Is what this letter is saying _true_?"

"Well-"

"Of course, it bloody is," Vernon interjected.

"How do you know?" Daisy snapped back. "It could be a joke for all you know. There are some people at that school who would love nothing more than to see me never come back. And if you listen to that letter, you'll be letting them win."

"That doesn't answer the question, Daisy," Petunia said, giving her daughter a look that promised trouble if she was found to be lying. "Is what this letter is saying _true_?"

"To be fair, no school can really ever guarantee the safety of any of its students, so in a way yes, I suppose what the letter is saying is true. However to say that I'm in any more danger than usual…well, I think that's a bit of an exaggeration."

"Young lady, you answer your mother this minute!" Vernon snapped, his hand smacking against the kitchen counter to emphasise his point. "Is what this letter is saying true or not?"

Daisy couldn't find a way out of this one besides outright lying. "Yes, but-"

"Then I've made my decision."

"It's not your decision to make!"

There was a determined glint in her father's eyes. "Oh, I think you'll find that it is."

* * *

It was gone past three when Daisy finally admitted she wasn't going to get any sleep that night, and rolled out of bed. She needed someone to talk to, and the only person apart from Dudley who was still fast asleep on the sofa and who clearly had enough on his plate, was the evil psychic warlock who couldn't be that bad, could he? He was after all just a memory in a book. Right?

Grabbing a flashlight and the Self-inking quill, she curled up under her duvet.

- I'm not going back to Hogwarts.

_- So she speaks. I hope you know that it's rather rude to disappear mid-conversation merely because something I write makes you uncomfortable or confuses you. My being in this book does not excuse you from basic manners._

- I'm pretty sure you're a dark warlock trying to pass off as a sixteen year old so my manners aren't really an issue here.

_- Yet you're still talking to me. _

- I should burn you, shouldn't I?

_- You can certainly try. _

- People have tried before then, have they?

_- Why won't you be going back to Hogwarts?_

Daisy narrowed her eyes at this change in subject. Was that a sign that people had tried to burn The Diary before, and failed? But then what had given them reason to try and destroy it? Was it because talking diaries were often burned at the first chance they got, or was it because this Tom character was bad news? She reasoned that he would never answer her directly, not yet, but she'd get it out of him somehow. Sighing, she stopped biting the top of the quill, and answered.

- Someone wrote to my parents saying that Muggleborns are being attacked and are in danger. My parents are what some would call overprotective. It did not go down well.

_- You're a Muggleborn?_

Daisy hated that even though she couldn't hear his voice, she felt that she could detect the surprise in the neat scrawl. Her hand tightened involuntarily on her quill and she hoped he could tell her irritation from her writing.

- Do you have a problem with that?

_- Not at all. I had assumed you were a Slytherin is all. _

- I _am_ a Slytherin.

_- I'm afraid I don't believe you._

- I am!

_- And I'm sixteen. Who wrote the letter? _

- I don't know, they wouldn't let me read it. Why?

_- It could be a fake. The last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened there was even a death, and yet no parents were notified. Unless everything has completely changed since my day, Hogwarts has a policy of keeping everything under wraps. _

- How do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?

_- I was alive the last time it was opened._

- No, I meant now. I never told you anything about the Chamber of Secrets.

_- You don't honestly think you're the first person to write in this diary?_

- Harry told you?

_- I'll assume he's the one who gifted me to you. _

- I'll assume it wasn't him who wrote to you, he'd have told me you were a sentient diary.

_- I'm not sentient, I am a memory. But we're veering away from the matter at hand here, Daisy. You must convince your parents that it's a fake and that you have to return to Hogwarts._

- And how do you propose I do that?

_- If you tell me more about them, I can help you come up with a strategy._

- I wouldn't trust you as far as I can throw you.

_- Trusting me could either turn out to be a wise decision or very foolish one. The choice is entirely yours. _

- I don't have to trust you for you to help me.

_- Are you always this distrusting?_

- I'm very trusting. In fact I have a friend who called me naïve just the other day. I just don't trust you, whoever you are. You could quite easily be my arch nemesis pretending to be this memory in a diary so I tell you everything and then you'll go and tell everyone and attempt to ruin my life more than you already have.

_- I could. Or I could turn out to be just the friend that you need._

- I have friends.

_- In that case, you have nothing to worry about. Your friends will surely find a way to get you back to Hogwarts._

- My friends care about my safety.

_- I'm sure they do. _

Daisy chewed her bottom lip as she thought over what to do. Millicent would more than likely be relieved that she wasn't coming back. The thought that her best friend might have sent the letter as a last ditch attempt to keep her safe crossed her mind, but the thought that she was being silly came just as quickly. Millicent was worried, but she wasn't that protective. And all the other people she might call friends, weren't anywhere near close enough to drop everything to save her from Four Privet Drive.

Could it hurt to tell him a bit about her parents? Evil warlocks tended to be quite persuasive – if anyone was going to have a tactic that would work on her father it was going to be whatever the thing was in The Diary. But then, what if it was Parkinson or Zabini or even a very, very bored Pucey, with nothing to do now he'd graduated? Daisy sighed. All this was giving her a headache.

- Fine.

_- Fine, what? _

- You can help me.

_- Oh, how so very kind of you for allowing me to come to your aid. _

- You're welcome.

_- So tell me about your parents. Who makes the decisions? _

- That would be my father.

* * *

Daisy was still wondering about her decision to somewhat partially trust The Diary when she found herself on her stomach, flashlight in hand searching under her parents' bed for anything that looked suspicious or out of place. Though they'd come to the conclusion that anything her father was hiding was probably tucked away at the London apartment that he spent so much time at and yet none of them had yet to see, her mother might have something that might persuade her that maybe Hogwarts wasn't so dangerous after all.

"If I were Mum," Daisy wondered out loud, as she pushed herself out from under the bed, and sat looking around her parent's immaculate room, "where would I hide something that I didn't want Dad to find?"

She'd already checked her mother's drawers, her vanity table, her jewellery box for any secret compartments, loose floorboards, the back of the wardrobe, the back of the top shelf within the same wardrobe and now under the bed. The mattress didn't feel irregular and her mother didn't seem like the type to keep things under the pillow. Daisy sat in the middle of the room, looking at every inch over and over again. It's not like her mother and brother would be back from the GP any time soon – he always ran late anyway, but it was always worse during times like this. She remembered thinking Harry was lucky he never had to go to the doctor's.

Daisy checked the laundry basket (after all, other than her mother and Harry no one else knew how to or ever attempted to use the washing machine) before grabbing the stool in front of the vanity and placing it in front of the wardrobe. This was also a good place to hide things from her father since he wasn't tall enough to see what was on top, but he would never risk putting his entire weight on anything like a chair, or going to all the effort of getting a ladder… She breathed a triumphant 'yes' when she felt something, and a few moments later, she was sat on the carpeted floor, opening up a metal box.

Daisy had found what looked like her mother's letter box. There were a lot of letters, some wrapped in string, and others just sitting amongst the others. The box was surprisingly messy for her mother – Daisy had always assumed her mother didn't know _how_ to be messy. It was odd that some of the bundled letters seemed to be from the wizarding world – they didn't have a post mark like the normal envelopes did – so Daisy couldn't tell when they'd been written, but she was sure the way her mother's name was written across the front reminded her of something, of-

Her hear skipped a beat when in moving some letters she saw the one she'd forgotten about despite how much intrigue it had caused at the time : the letter from Aunt Lily that her mother had received at Gringotts. Daisy had stopped thinking about it because her mother never spoke about things she made clear she didn't want to speak about - and Snape's hate for Harry had eventually tempered out into an equal hate for all Gryffindors - but she now held it in her hands.

_To my dearest Petunia, _

_If you are reading this letter, as well as pulling a face at such a clichéd beginning, it is because something has happened to James and I, and Harry has been placed in your care. I can think of no other explanation as to why you would be at Gringotts Bank, if not to accompany Harry to Diagon Alley because he's about to start his first year at Hogwarts. My baby boy is all grown up. I'm watching him sleep as I write this, and I can't imagine him being eleven. I don't want to imagine him getting on the Hogwarts Express without me to see him off, to tell him to be good and under no circumstances follow after his father's footsteps. But if you're reading this, obviously I won't be there. _

_But you will. _

_James always asked me why I made you godmother. Well, for one, you're my sister. Always have been, always will be, no matter our differences, our arguments and our husbands. And I knew from the moment that you agreed, despite your arch-nemesis being named godfather, despite what happened at the wedding, despite Mum and Dad – I knew that you would take care of Harry as he was your own. Even with the twins. _

_It's so hard writing this letter, for more than the obvious reasons. I keep wanting to ask you how you are, how Harry is, how the kids are - what they look like now, even though I know I'll never know. Not in this world, anyhow. I keep wanting to apologise for going and getting myself killed, but I know it won't mean a thing to you, because it would mean I left you, and you always found it so difficult to forgive me for leaving. I can't believe I'll have left my Harry. At least he has you, and what more could a mother ask? _

_So thank you, 'Tunie. Thank you for being there for him where I can't._

_I know you don't need the money, but I'm going to open up the vault anyway; it's for Daisy, for all the Christmas and birthday presents and the 'just because' presents that she never got to have from her own godmother. I know what you're thinking – that I only put the money in the wizarding bank because I had doubts you would step up to the job in case James and I were gone – but can you blame me? I suppose we're more alike than we think sometimes. _

_Don't worry, the goblins will happily change the money into the currency you're used to._

_Give them all my love, especially my little Harry. Make sure he knows that no matter how big he gets, I'll never stop loving him. _

_Your sister, always,_

_Lily_

Daisy stared at the letter in her hands.

After their trip to Gringotts, she'd wondered if the letter had explained how Aunt Lily had always known that Petunia was going to give birth to a magical child and therefore had left an account, but the explanation was disappointingly ordinary – only the money in the vault had really been destined to her. Her late godmother had had no idea that she was going to be a witch. At least it explained a few of the things that Daisy had wondered about, like how Harry had gotten an owl and not her, or how her mother had begun making an effort to actually acknowledge her relation to Harry.

It was odd though, that her aunt and mother were close enough at one point for each of them to trust their children in each other's care in case something happened to them, and yet there was no trace of Aunt Lily in the house. Daisy felt a little sad that Harry didn't know much about his mother, or knew how much she had clearly loved him. She wondered what to do. Her mother would notice if she took the letter, and if her attempts to get back to Hogwarts didn't work, it wasn't like she'd be able to give it to him anyway

The sound of the car pulling into the driveway pulled her out of her thoughts, and putting the letter and its box, back in its place, Daisy was back in her room as the front door opened.

She'd leave the box for now. There was apparently a lot she didn't know about Petunia Dursley, but maybe her Mum kept those secrets to herself for a reason, and for the moment Daisy had enough secrets to be uncovering. And besides, her mother could notice a speck of dust a mile off; she'd notice someone had been in her room. Daisy wasn't so hopeful as to think that the box wouldn't be moved somewhere else by this time tomorrow.

* * *

If her mother had noticed, she didn't say anything, so Daisy said nothing either. She focused instead on the matter at hand: trying to change her parents' minds about Hogwarts. The tantrums had proved ineffective (though this had not surprised Tom who informed her she was not five), and the blackmail seemed like a dead end, what with no blackmail material. Daisy had told him she'd found nothing on her mother, and her father had refused her request to come with him to the London flat.

"Can I at least come with you to the office?" Daisy asked, as she poured her father some more orange juice, and then some for herself. "I haven't been to the office with you in awhile. It'd be nice to think about something else."

"I'm afraid it wouldn't be interesting for you, poppet," her father had replied. "It's a very stressful time right now – it's just a bunch of people running around trying to get things done before the new year."

"I wouldn't get in your way I promise. You used to take me every time you got promoted – you haven't taken me yet, and even then I used to just sit in your office and watch you work. It'll be like the good old times."

Vernon smiled, and kissed her forehead as he passed to grab his suit jacket where he always hung it up. "Another time sweet heart. Since you won't be going back to that school, you'll have all the time in the world."

It had taken an extraordinary amount of calm for her not to throw the orange juice at his retreating back. None of her tactics were working – absolutely none of them. Tom had suggested that since her father was always going on about missing his little girl, then acting like she'd done before the Hogwarts letters, when they were much closer, might get him to reconsider. However, this feat was rendered more difficult by Professor Snape's confirmation of the events and his acknowledgement of their request for a partial withdrawal; her return to Hogwarts was on the condition that the attacker be identified and stopped. He would give them the all-clear when matters were resolved. When that would be, no one could say for certain.

She was running out of time.

That night, Daisy took the bottom of the stairs, a blanket around her shoulders and a book for company. She used to do this all the time when her father was working double shifts to cover bills they hadn't quite been able to meet or to save up for the holidays which meant he'd work hours where they'd never see him, because he'd be leaving just as their mother was shaking them awake and he'd return long after her mother had proclaimed night time, but Daisy, stubborn as she was, would refuse to go to sleep without seeing her father. So she'd sit at the bottom of the stairs, with the original intention of asking all about his day, but it always ended up with him carrying her up to bed and tucking her in. He never told bedtime stories, but he did tell her about new products they were working on, or explained why he wasn't around more.

Daisy didn't realise that she'd fallen asleep until she was being shaken awake.

"Dad?" she murmured, rubbing at her eyes to clear up her vision.

"I hope you don't think I still have the strength to carry you up those stairs," he joked, though his smile looked tired. "Come on, let's get you into bed."

Daisy allowed herself to be guided up the stairs by a very happy Vernon – it brought back memories of carrying her, soft blonde hair tickling his face as she tucked herself into him, struggling against sleep. Though he'd always been happy to see Dudley grow into a young man, Vernon had always secretly wished that his little Daisy didn't have to ever grow up. As she crawled into her bunk, he pulled up the chair next to her, and accepted the hand that reached out for his own. He told her about the restructuring taking place, how Grunnings stood to overtake the European market and confessed that though he preferred Research & Development, being on the Board was a hell of a lot more fun than Sales.

"Daddy?" Daisy said as they lapsed into a silence.

"Yes, darling?"

"Why can't I go back to school?"

"Because it isn't safe," Vernon sighed, brushing the back of her hand with a thumb as he spoke. "Your mother, she, err - she told me about the bullies, you know. I wish you could have come to me, to us, but I know things… Well. Now, I know a few bullies, you can handle, you're a Dursley after all. But something is trying to kill you, darling, and I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt. If I lost you."

There was another silence, and he thought sleep had finally claimed her, but she mumbled, "I'm not safe here, either. Nick tried to hurt me. He would have hurt me if Dudley hadn't saved me. But you knew that though, didn't you, Daddy? Because you didn't want Mum to know… But you knew. You know Nick is going to hurt me. You're letting him. So how do you live with yourself now?"

Vernon didn't answer, instead watched her for a long time, and when her hold on his hand slackened, he tucked the covers in around her, placed a kiss on the top of her head, turned off her lamp, and carried out his bedtime routine, and crawled into bed besides his sleeping wife. It was not long before he was asleep. Vernon Dursley was a man who did not lose any sleep over the things he thought were right.

* * *

"Thanks for the ice cream Mum," Daisy said as she and Dudley helped their mother unload the car. She and her brother had accompanied their mother into town to help with the New Year's groceries, exchange some of the gifts they didn't like and an unexpected ice cream stop.

"Yeah, thanks, Mum," Dudley echoed, as he charged himself with as many grocery bags as he could. He, contrary to Harry, hated making lots of trips into the house. On the odd occasion he had to help his mother (which were more frequent now Harry was at Hogwarts and he came home at least every other weekend), he liked to carry so many bags he was in danger of toppling over to avoid returning to the car.

"Dudley, if you break my eggs again, you are going to walk to the shops yourself to get some more!" Petunia called as she saw her son edging up slowly towards the house, in immense look of concentration on his face as he tried to avoid slipping on the iced ground.

"I won't!"

Daisy was in the kitchen, already rooting through the bags for the new chocolate bar she'd insisted on getting. Helping to put away the shopping was a step the Dursley twins still had yet to reach. Dudley joined her at the kitchen table with his own goods, and they were eating away to the sound of the radio, when they heard a bump upstairs.

"What's that?" Daisy asked.

"It's just your father," Petunia said, donning an apron, everything now packed away in its place. She wondered whether to bake or get an early start on dinner.

"Oh, I thought he was in London today," Dudley said. "Can you bake some shortbread, Mum? Fancy it."

She pressed a kiss against his temple that he didn't even bother fighting off. "Of course, darling."

There was another bump and they heard a call. "Dudley! Come give me a hand, please!"

"What is Dad up to?" Daisy asked, as she watched Dudley struggle off of his chair and stomp upstairs, clearly having reached his limit of being helpful for today.

"Why don't you help me?" Petunia said, ignoring the question and bringing Daisy's attention back to the kitchen. "Maybe if I teach you how to bake, then you won't ruin anymore of my baking trays. Shortbread is a good start for the hopeless."

"Hey! I'm not _hopeless_. I'll help but only if I get to wear the pretty apron."

"You have yourself a deal."

With the radio turned up, and intently following to her mother's instructions to prove that she could bake just as well as her brother, Daisy had all but forgotten about her father. She only remembered he was in the house when he stalked into the kitchen looking rather annoyed, Dudley right behind him.

"I need that stick," Vernon said, holding out his hand.

Daisy frowned at this demand. "What?"

"I know you have it. Give me the stick."

"Do you mean my _wand_?"

"You know what I mean, now give it to me!"

"I don't have it," Daisy shrugged. "Why would you want it anyway?"

"It doesn't matter."

"He's taking all your stuff from school somewhere," Dudley expanded, indifferent to the look that his father gave him. "I just helped him move your trunk to the car."

"You _what_?" Daisy shouted, nearly dropping the mixing bowl in her hand on the floor. "Why? Dad – I thought – but – _no_! You can't!"

"Daisy I think it'd be best to give it to him," Petunia suggested, moving all that she did not have the time to replace out of harm's way.

"No! You swore you'd talk to him about this, Mum! You _swore_!"

"Give it to me _now_," her father reiterated, his hand still held out expectantly, "or I swear that if I have to find that thing myself, I will snap it clean in half."

"You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't try me if I were you."

Teeth gritted, Daisy wiped her hands on the apron, and reached behind her back where she always kept her wand tucked into the back of her jeans, or tied there with a ribbon if she was wearing a dress, because all the books she had ever read said that a witch or a wizard should never be without their wand - even if she couldn't legally use it yet.

"Why are you doing this?" Daisy asked, reluctantly handing it over.

He snatched it out of her hand. "I'll be back this evening."

That was not answer enough. The minute her wand was gone, Daisy felt more vulnerable than ever – defeated, and she couldn't have that. Dodging her mother's attempt to hold her back, she ran after her father, grabbing him as he went to open the car door.

"I'll tell Mum!" Daisy hissed, "I'll tell Mum what happened at the Masons, what Nick told me you've done! I'll tell her everything I know."

Rather than looking scared, her father looked rather amused by her threats. "Go ahead, darling. Your mother's not an idiot."

"I'll tell Mrs Mason!"

"Cheryl currently thinks you're a compulsive liar with anger issues and wouldn't believe a word you said. You don't honestly think I didn't see this coming? I'm your father, Daisy. I know you, just like I know what is best for you, so it would all be much easier if you just accepted it. I know it doesn't make sense right now, poppet, but you'll thank me for it in the future. You'll realise how much you missed just being normal."

"But I'm not! Listen Dad, I could be great if you just-" Let out a frustrated cry, as he opened the car door, and entered it. She grabbed hold of it. "You do this and you will lose me! You will lose me forever!"

She had to move her hands to stop him from trapping her fingers as he shut the door, discussion over. Anger, frustration, disappointment all swirled around her stomach, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as she watched him fiddling with something in the car from the front step. In that moment, Daisy wanted nothing more than to hurt him, to teach him a lesson, to remind him that she would _always_ be a witch, no matter what he said. She glanced at the tree that stood between number 2 and 4, and then in the next moment, one of its branches had snapped clean off, falling with a loud crash onto the bonnet of the shiny silver company car.

Vernon jumped out with a yelp, hand clutched to his heart as he took in what had just happened, or just how close he had come to serious injury. Had it fallen a little higher, it would have no doubt smashed through the window screen. He could have died. A chill ran through him as he looked up to find Daisy watching him, her eyes hard, her expression showing no surprise at what had just happened. He shook it off as the cold and shock as Petunia and Dudley rushed out, as well as a few of the neighbours alerted by the crash, _their_ faces at least bearing the appropriate expressions.

"My goodness, Vernon," Petunia cried, a hand over her mouth as she surveyed the scene. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. A damn sight better than the car though! Only had this baby for a fortnight," he said, though his hands were shaking. "I can't believe a bloody branch fell onto my car! Oh, I'm going to have words with those council workers – I asked them _last year_ to cut this tree. As if having my car covered in leaves wasn't bad enough, it almost killed me! Sheer and utter negligence, that's what it is! Where did I put that number? I suppose I'd get the insurance on the line as well."

As he pushed past her into the house, still muttering to himself, Daisy realised her hands were shaking too.

* * *

- They've taken my wand. And everything else. Now what?

_- You surrendered your wand?_

- He threatened to snap it in half. I don't see what else I could have done.

_- You feel different. What else happened?_

- What do you mean I feel different?

_- Your magic. I can sense more of your magic. _

- Oh right. A tree branch fell onto my father's car. I might have had something to do with it. I don't know. I was just so angry, and I couldn't help myself – I just – It's happened before, but at Hogwarts, never here. Not that I remember anyway. I never really had problems with accidental magic here. I think it's because I always got my way before. It's only since I started at Hogwarts that I've been made to feel like this.

_- And here was me thinking that you merely let him get away with it. Perhaps some fear will have him reconsider. If you can do it when you're angry, I see no reason not to hone that skill, to control it. I can help you. If you let me._

- Dad doesn't take kindly to being intimidated.

_- But if he were to see that without your wand, without the structure of Hogwarts, you are uncontrollable, then what choice would he have?_

- Hmm. Maybe.

_- Daisy, we need to get back to Hogwarts._

- You keep saying that, but I still don't get why. Why do you, as a memory, need to get back to Hogwarts? it's not like you have class.

_- You could say that Hogwarts is better for my health. _

- Memories have health?

_- I strive on magic. The ambient magic at Hogwarts makes me feel better. It allows me to see my memories more vividly so that I have something other than just…being. _

- So what you're saying is that if I don't get back to Hogwarts you're going to start using my magic? You know what, I'm just going to burn you. They usually have a bonfire on the Common for New Year's and rather you than me.

_- That wasn't what I was saying. It would be easier to show you what I am saying, though evidently, despite our time together, you don't trust me._

- That's because I have no idea who you are.

_- Then let me show you. Lock the door._

Daisy hesitated, but curiosity found her locking the door, and returning to the table. The pages of the diary began to turn, flipping increasingly faster as if blown by a strong wind, producing a light that steadily brightened until she was forced her to close her eyes to shield against it. When she opened them she was no longer in her bedroom in Little Whinging but on a cliff side somewhere, the wind now coming from the expanse of water to her left, and facing what looked like a sixteen year old boy, leaning languidly on a large rock.

Daisy couldn't quite find the words to speak. Other than the fact that she was in The Diary (which seemed pretty reckless now she was here give that she had no idea how get out), it was somewhat overwhelming to finally match a face to the handwriting she now knew so well. Perhaps it was because she'd been expecting some Disney villain with long flowing robes and a ridiculous goatee, that this handsome boy, with the high cheekbones and icy blue eyes that looked back at her, dark hair that falling around his face almost perfectly despite the breeze, took her off guard.

"You still don't trust me," he said, pushing off and standing to his full self, which had to be at least six feet. He could most likely look Flint in the eye. His height made her shrink back. "Or are you afraid of me?"

"You really are sixteen," was the only thing she could find to say, still looking up at him as if she was a few moments from reaching out to check that he was real, or at least that he really stood before her.

"I really am. Though I've been sixteen for far too long. It tends to feel like forever given that I have absolutely no notion of how time passes unless I have contact with the outside, which can be sporadic at best, and annoying at worst. Though I must admit, yours is the company I've enjoyed the most so far."

"Why is that?"

"I find you interesting." He had that Slytherin way of smiling, the half-smile that held a shadow of a smirk, but remained a smile and therefore rude to question the sincerity. He motioned in the direction of a path leading away from the cliff's edge. "Would you care to go for a walk?"

"Where are we?"

"The seaside," Tom replied, turning and beginning to walk without waiting for Daisy. She followed, though not because she had a choice. "I used to come here often during my childhood, and it was the place of some defining moments for myself. I find it calming. I thought you might too."

"I'm slightly afraid you're going to push me off the cliff actually," Daisy confessed.

He laughed, the smile on his face now definitely mocking. "Even if I had a murderous intent, it would be rather silly of me to kill the one person who can get me where I need to be."

"For some reason still unknown to me."

"I already told you why," his voice serious now, holding a tinge of annoyance at having to say what he had already written more than enough times.

"And I still don't believe you. This-" She held out her hands to gesture to their environment, the field that was spread out before them on a background of an ideal sunny day, "-is powerful, Dark magic. It has to be. People have tried to destroy you and failed. If you could live off a person's magic permanently, you would have already taken mine, so I'm going to go ahead and guess it's because you can't. And it seems pretty stupid to conserve yourself in a diary if you need to constantly be around magic to survive. Why not conserve yourself in a painting of some Pureblood manor or sacred heirloom then?"

"Because I am – or at least was – sixteen when I did it. Surely you can appreciate, as young and stupid as you are, that I made an error in calculation? That I did not think this through?"

Daisy frowned. "I'm not young and stupid."

"You could have fooled me."

She stopped walking, arms crossed, biting her bottom lip nervously, forcing him to a halt a few feet away from her. "I don't think you're capable of making errors in calculations," Daisy said, still wondering if she should be saying anything at all as she spoke. "If you're as brilliant as I think you are, you would have never conserved yourself in this diary unless it could live anywhere, survive anything. So I think you're lying and you have a completely other reason to get back to Hogwarts than your so-called health."

Tom was silent for a moment, as if he were contemplating the accusations. He fixed her with a grave look. "You think me brilliant?"

Daisy gave an exasperated sigh and stalked off down the path.

"Daisy!" It took only a few large strides for him to catch up with her, pulling her arm, to force her to stop. "I'm sorry, you're absolutely right. I should be completely honest with you. Though I think you can appreciate how I would find it hard to trust someone who doesn't trust me. Why should I extend to you the courtesy that you refuse me?"

"Because _you_ need a favour from me!"

"And when you needed a favour, did I ask that your trust be a condition?"

"That's because helping me helps you!" Daisy argued. "I want to know _why_ I'm helping you."

"I shall tell you once you trust me."

"Then I suppose you can stay here."

"Then you can stay down here with me," Tom shrugged, carrying on down the path, sticking his hands into his pockets, the casual manner incongruous to, and yet fitting to his demeanour. "I'm your only way out. There are some people who advocate close proximity as a way to get to know one another."

"And you expect to trust you now?" Daisy demanded, not believing her ears. Why had she ever written back to him? This now ranked above spitting on Pucey in her list of stupid things she had done in her lifetime. "You can't force trust on a person, you know!"

"You're right. But given our time frame, and our dire circumstances, I find that a little force is appropriate. Besides – why do you want to return to Hogwarts? You have loving parents, a twin brother you get on with, and you're quite well off. Why not wait for the culprit to be found?"

"It's complicated."

"I'm listening."

They walked in silence for awhile, Daisy trying to think of what to tell him, because as beautiful as the scenery was, she had no desire to stay down here with Tom, not in a world where he controlled everything. Despite the fact that she couldn't help warming to him now that she could put a face to his words, it didn't change the fact that she remained wary.

"So you know I'm a Slytherin?" she began.

"So you claim," he acquiesced.

"Trust me, I wouldn't claim it otherwise. Great as it is, it's a pretty shitty place to be when you're a Muggleborn. Well, you know that. It must have been worse in your day. Sometimes I think I should have let the Hat stick me in Gryffindor. It's not been easy." She sighed. "Anyway, last year I had a lot of difficulty settling in: them not being a fan of Muggleborns, and me not being a fan of letting other people walk all over me without a fight. This year, I found a way to get them off my back; I let them believe something that isn't necessarily true. The problem is that I kind of have to be at Hogwarts for them to carry on believing it's true, otherwise they'll figure out the truth and I will never be able to set foot in that place again unless I want to die a horrible gruesome death."

"They're schoolchildren – they wouldn't kill you."

"Ah, some of the seventh years look like they'd be willing to do time in Azkaban for the pleasure of slitting my throat. And this book one of my Housemates gave me for Christmas mentioned something about the need to find the uses of Mudblood, instead of harming dragons – and the referenced author seems to be an ancestor of someone in my House who really doesn't like me."

"How have you managed to gain so many enemies within your House?" Tom questioned. "That the Purebloods dislike you and perhaps pick on you is understandable, and you do have this obnoxious tendency to think you're right about everything, but to go as far as to actively seek to kill you?"

"Well, if they don't kill me it's because they believe I have given journals to a series of newspapers chronicling my time in Slytherin, both fact and outright lies, as well as things I've heard, to be published on my death."

"And that's how you're keeping them scared enough to leave you alone? I would just torture the whereabouts of the journals out of you."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid they might do," Daisy sighed again, "Once they figure out I'm not the Heir of Slytherin, that is."

"They think _you're_ the Heir of Slytherin?"

"Don't look so shocked! I'm a very convincing Heir. What? Why are you laughing?"

"Because it's so ridiculous!" Tom answered, shaking his head at the thought. "You, a Muggleborn girl, holds House Slytherin in fear because they think _you're_ a descendent of the great Salazar Slytherin? Even you must admit it sounds a little far-fetched."

"It's not that hard of a leap to make when you consider that I'm a _Muggleborn_ in his House. That's rare, considered impossible by most. At the very least they think I'm a relation if not a direct descendant. I just need to return to Hogwarts to keep up the charade."

"Did you ever consider what would happen when you came face-to-face with the real Heir?"

"Well, I hoped he'd give me time to explain myself before he went in for the kill. And that my explanation would allow him to rule me worthy enough to live. I like to think the Heir is a reasonable person."

"You play a dangerous game," Tom pointed out, still looking pointedly amused by her.

Daisy shrugged, but smiled. "I get bored."

"Thank you for sharing your reasons for wanting to return with me."

"So what's your reason for returning then?" Daisy asked.

"The fact that I might be in a position to help you with your Heir problem," Tom answered, that half smile back on his face. "Goodnight, Daisy."

Before Daisy could say anything, she was back in her own room, staring at the blank diary.

* * *

_**A/N:** Ahh, what a chapter! I seriously don't know how I rack up these word counts. I might try and shorten them just a little. We'll see. So…what do you guys think of my Tom? Is this the direction you thought I was heading? Let me know – I always love hearing your thoughts and theories. As always, thank you for reading and until next time! _


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

- Happy New Year, Tom.

_- Should you not be celebrating with your family?_

- I was. It's just gone past three though, Aunt Lizzie went home awhile ago because she doesn't like Amy and Lucas staying up late even though Lucas is almost fifteen now, and Uncle Alfie and Dad look about ready to pass out, and Mum and Dudley are in the kitchen, and they looked like they were having a bit of a moment so I thought I'd say goodnight and come up here and wish you a Happy New Year. Aren't you always going on about my manners anyway?

_- I wasn't aware you actually listened. Happy New Year, Daisy._

Outside, fireworks were going off from various gardens, lighting the sky with an array of smoky colours and filling the night with a syncopation of whistles and bangs, the more distant sounds coming from the town fireworks being set off on the Common. Daisy paused to watch a display going on nearby, nothing like the one they had watched on television, but it was closer, and thus felt that little bit more special. The Polkiss' did them sometimes – Piers' dad thought himself a bit of a connoisseur – but relations had been strained between the families ever since Dudley had gotten into Smeltings and Piers had not.

She looked down at The Diary to find another message from Tom.

_- If you're not too tired, would you like to come in? I wouldn't mind the company._

- Alright. But not for too long, I'm tired. Let me lock the door.

Now the third time she was invited in, it was less disorientating and scary, even though they had so far appeared in a different location each time. This time it was a dingy room with whitewashed walls that had coloured grey over time, a single bed pushed up under a window covered with heavy black curtain, an old wardrobe ready to fall apart, a small desk with a chair and a sink, a cracked mirror just above. Tom was sat on the bed, his long legs pulled up onto it, throwing a rubber ball onto the wall, before catching it.

He offered her a cool smile by way of greeting.

"Well, this looks homely," Daisy commented, taking a seat on the chair. It gave a little creak as she did so. "Where are we?"

"My room – outside of Hogwarts," he answered, throwing the ball and catching it again. "I spent so much time here, naturally many of my memories use it as their foundation, and I find myself drawn back. I would have had only a year left when I made this memory. One more year and I would have been free. "

"Who are you?" Tom stopped throwing the ball, and turned to look at her, his eyebrow raised in a way that usually signalled that he was about let her know what an idiot he thought she was. Daisy rushed to explain herself. "I mean, I know your name is Tom Riddle and a sixteen year old memory, I know _that_, but - _why_ conserve yourself? Were you dying? Why immortalise yourself in this form? Are you still alive somewhere, except older?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"I like answers, they're quite useful," Daisy shrugged. "You avoid a lot of my questions."

"I have told you more than I have ever shared with another human being, be satisfied with that. Perhaps in due time, I will answer your questions or you will figure them out for yourself."

Daisy rested her head on the table and watched him for awhile, finding the continuous thud of the ball hitting the wall rather soothing, and trying very hard not to pout. Tom was always so cryptic. However she was beginning to wonder if that wasn't the whole appeal of him, the reason why she enjoyed the time spent with him, whether inside The Diary or writing to him. He was like a puzzle, but one that seemed to promise something much more exciting at the end of it than the mere satisfaction of solving it – as if figuring out who he was would only be the beginning of something big, something exciting. But would she have the time to figure him out?

"When I take you back to Hogwarts, do you want me to return you to the person who had you before?"

He stopped throwing the ball, and turned to look at her again. "Do I bore you so?"

"I just thought maybe they were your friend or something," Daisy said, her shoulders lifting in another shrug.

"If that were the case, how would I have ended up in your possession?" he asked, resuming his game, the sound of his throws slightly louder than before. "No, they were not. But you… Well, I had hoped that by the time we returned, our success in convincing your parents that allowing you to return to Hogwarts is the right thing to do would mean that you could trust me, and I you – that we would have a semblance of a friendship. There is something that I must do and unfortunately I cannot do it alone."

"What must you do?"

He threw the ball in a corner of the room and stood up.

"Let's go for a walk."

Daisy was discovering that Tom was rather fond of walks. He led her out of his room, through the dark corridors of what seemed to be a large old house, with creaking staircases and a heavy looking door that he merely pulled them through and out onto the night streets. The streets were empty and dark, only the waxing moon high above them and the smattering of stars providing her with just enough light to decipher that they were in a city, quite possibly even London.

"Why is it so dark?" Daisy asked.

"Blackout," Tom answered. "The Muggles were at war. I used to enjoy walking in it. There were fewer people out – of course nothing like this dead silence, this is of my own creation – and honing my eyesight gave me something to do."

"You can _see_ in this?"

"Why use just one sense, when you have four more?"

"Maybe because we're not _all_ magical prodigies or evil warlocks or whatever you are."

"Very well." The sky lightened to a sky bearing the first signs of sunset, and Daisy felt instantly more comfortable now that she could actually see where she was stepping, rather than trying to figure it out. She was never sure when the obstacles before her would feel real or she'd pass through them like a ghost – that was usually up to Tom, and he was never a fan of letting her know beforehand what was what. He pulled her out of her thoughts. "We've run out of time, Daisy."

"I know." She sighed, wishing she had an answer to their pressing problem. "I don't know what to do."

"I do," Tom said simply. "They're refusing you permission to study there, but that does not prevent you from getting to Hogwarts on your own. All you need is money for transportation to the Leaky Cauldron, and then you can Floo into Hogsmeade. From there it's a mere matter of walking into the school – the gates on September first do not lock until late to allow for the varied arrival times of students returning after the holiday – and from that point on I will guide you through the rest."

Daisy gave this proposition some thought. It had crossed her mind that she could just find a way to get to Hogwarts anyway but she had given it little thought given that her ultimate goal was to go back to Hogwarts to _study_, a desire made that much more difficult now she was without wand. She had, however, given much thought to the fact she still had no idea what Tom wanted at Hogwarts, and it worried her, and therefore made her very reluctant to help.

"Well, I don't think my parents are going to let me just walk out of the house," Daisy pointed out.

"Might I suggest that you do the obvious thing in such a situation and sneak out of the house," Tom offered, his voice tinged with irritation. He had hoped that she would be a little more receptive to the idea. "Surely you're not going to let some Muggles stand in your way?"

"Those _Muggles_ happen to be my parents, Tom," Daisy snapped, unappreciative of the tone he took when speaking about her parents. It was alright when he was writing, she could pretend he was being respectful, inquisitive, objectively critical even, but when she could see his face and hear the derisive tones in his voice, she couldn't help but take offense.

"And? However appreciative I am of your existence, what use are they if they're only holding you back for some ridiculously sentimental, and quite frankly, selfish reasons?"

"Oh, I forgot it makes you angry that my parents _care_."

"No, you'd forgotten that it irritates me that you can't see that _they_ are the ones standing in your way. You don't _need_ your father to pay tuition, you don't _need_ your mother to coddle you and bake you things – Hogwarts can give you everything that you need, and everything you want you can procure yourself. Once you realise that, perhaps then you'll stand a chance of being nearly as brilliant as you think me."

Daisy was about to retort, when something hit her. "You're an orphan."

Her statement seemed to quell something within him, and his expression hardened.

"Well, no offence but," Daisy pushed on when he didn't dispute her conclusion, "I'd say that kind of invalidates everything you've said about my parents. You can't exactly tell whether I need them or not because you have absolutely no idea what it's like to have them."

"On the contrary, it makes me excellently placed to know the true nature of parents," Tom rounded on her, forcing her to a halt. She instinctively shrunk back; he towered over her and she had never seen this particular look on his face. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "Do you think couples came into the orphanage looking for a child to provide with a loving home, to love and to care for? No, they did not. I watched them and saw how they carefully selected the one who would fit most perfectly into their ideal of a family portrait, how desperately they craved a child to have some sort of legacy to leave on after their deaths and labelled this selfish desire to be love. They needed child because society had told them they needed one, so better to adopt than nothing at all. So the truth is, your father doesn't love you. Your father loves the idea of having a perfect daughter, and you know that. And you've always been terrified that because there are two of you, you're pretty much replaceable."

"That's not true." She stared back at those cold eyes, trying to find explanations, but it was difficult with him standing so close, and his words making her stomach twist. Daisy's jaw tightened, and her hands balling into fists by her side. "My mother loves me."

"Because it is her duty to love you. What else could she even do? What on God's Good Earth would the neighbours say if she was unable to unconditionally love the _thing_ that she gave birth to? They'd talk, and you said it yourself – your mother loathes to be the centre of the gossip she loves so much. Though I guess in that respect you're rather lucky. She chose love. The things some Muggle parents did to their children at the first signs of magic in my time would make your hair curl."

"I want to go back." She was surprised how quiet her voice was, as if she was afraid that if she spoke any louder he might find more words to throw at her. "I'm done talking to you."

"Oh, I'm sorry, should I have prefaced what I said with 'No offence'?" Tom sneered, "Would that have made the truth hurt a little less?"

Daisy's cheeks burned even as she glared at him, fists still clenched by her side. The fact that he had a valid point did not mean that his words had stung any less. He could have just _said_ she'd been insensitive instead of being so mean. There was no way he would get an apology out of her for that.

"So what's this thing that you need my help for?" Daisy asked instead, also resuming their walk hoping to also resume the purpose of this conversation.

"We'll get to that," Tom said, falling back into step with her, his tone of voice lighter, "First tell me how you were planning to keep convincing the Slytherins that you're the Heir of Slytherin."

"Find the Chamber of Secrets."

He snorted. "I'm surprised. For a – what was it you called yourself? Oh, that's right – a dead Mudblood walking, I would have assumed you might have do something that you can accomplish sometime this year."

"I would have had the whole of Christmas if Mum –" She caught herself, keeping her eyes on the pavement before her instead of turning to see the look she knew would be on Tom's face. "Who says I can't find the Chamber this year?"

"Because it took _me_ until my fifth year to find it."

Daisy stopped in her tracks. This time it was she who reached out to stop him. "You found the Chamber of Secrets? The legendary Chamber of Secrets that not even the great Albus Dumbledore has been able to find? And you told no one?"

"Revealing the Chamber to the wider public was never the intention of Slytherin, Daisy," Tom said, extracting his arm from her hold, smoothing out the material of his grey shirt in a way that set her on edge. "What lies in the Chambers must be protected lest it be hunted by those who do not understand the sheer beauty of it; its secrets to be learned, used and shared only, if at all, with a deserving few; its passages to lay in faithful wait for the coming of a rightful Heir for as long as Hogwarts stands. Besides, had you found the Chamber, I can assure you that your ignorance of Parseltongue would have meant certain death."

"You're a Parselmouth? Which means-"

"This is exactly the reaction that I had been hoping to avoid, Daisy," Tom commented dryly as he watched her stepping backwards, eyes wide and her hands subconsciously lifting into a defensive pose. "Stop walking away from me." She stopped. She wasn't sure if she had obeyed out of fear or because he made her stop, all she knew that her feet refused to move as he closed the distance between them. "Come now, don't look so afraid. We've already ascertained that my killing you would be counterproductive."

"Please," Daisy whispered, "Please don't hurt me. Please."

"Your little act doesn't work on me, Daisy – I know you better than that now. In fact, you're currently thinking of how you're going to destroy me, aren't you, and you're asking _me_ not to hurt _you_? Tut, tut, tut. Do you treat all your friends like this?"

"We're not friends," Daisy said through gritted teeth, glancing up to meet his eyes. "You're _the_ Heir of Slytherin, the one that opened the Chamber. You're trying to kill me."

"Well, I think you'll find that the message was that _enemies_ of the Heir should beware. I have come to find you…quite worthy." A chill ran down her spine as he ran a long finger down the side of her face, her discomfort seemingly a great source of amusement to him. "Now back to your original question: I require your assistance in closing the Chamber."

"Why?"

He raised a brow. "Do you want it to remain open?"

"No."

"We don't have a problem them, then do we? We'll close the Chamber, you'll spend some quality time with your oh so loving and caring parents, and then we shall return to Hogwarts together. I don't particularly like leaving unfinished business, and I rather enjoy your company."

"I'm not helping you kill Muggleborns."

"I don't recall asking you to," Tom said. "I have killed no Muggleborns, now or ever, Daisy."

"But the girl that died-"

"She was not a Muggleborn – she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yes, I have Petrified Muggleborns but that's really nothing more serious than a Stunning Spell, if only with a more prolonged effect. My intent has been to warn them away, force them out of Hogwarts. With them gone I could unleash the true power of Slytherin onto those who _I _judged unworthy."

Daisy frowned, trying to wrap her mind around what he was telling her. "I don't understand."

"You saw my room, Daisy! Think! What would have House Slytherin done when I first showed up, a little orphan boy with a Muggle name and virtually penniless? Do you think they welcomed me with open arms? Do you think they treated me as one of Salazar's chosen?"

"They thought you were Muggleborn..."

"It was only a matter of time before I honed my skills enough to keep away even the seventh years who thought themselves so clever; I made them think twice about ever looking down at me again. And then I discovered my ancestry – oh, you should have seen how they stumbled over each other to kiss the hem of my robes, and I allowed them to, knowing that it was the little bit of mercy that I could offer as it was too late. They had already signed their death certificates. For you see Daisy, I had already decided that I would destroy them all. That I would then build a New World free of them, and I would lead the wizarding world back to a glory it has not seen since Hogwarts itself was built. And I will complete my mission, and you will help me."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because you want the same." Daisy looked away, wishing it was still pitch black so she couldn't feel drawn to the passion that set his eyes ablaze. His look dared her to deny it.

"Why do you need to scare away the Muggleborns?"

"Purebloods, well more particularly, Noble House Purebloods do not like to be hunted, and in their desperation to clutch on to their pathetic little lives, they _will_ lash out, and their first victims will be the Muggleborns," Tom explained patiently. "I cannot guarantee the safety of every Muggleborn, so better to have them out of the way. A temporary necessity."

"You hope to end their bloodlines," Daisy said slowly as she gave more and more thought to this, the familiar feeling of exciting building up within her as realisation dawned. "Most only have one child, and they'll be at Hogwarts, and then that's it – no more heirs. And no more heirs means no more Noble Houses."

"Precisely."

Daisy could only stare at Tom - in just a few moments he had turn her world upside down. She'd known from the outset he wasn't going to be just an innocent former Slytherin student, but she had never imagined that the Heir of Slytherin would turn out to be on _her_ side. It was very hard to think rationally when everything she had secretly hoped for was suddenly laid out before her, to think of the downside of finally wiping the look off of their bigoted, bullying faces, to find herself at the top of the Slytherin food chain because the Heir of Slytherin had deemed her worthy. Not Malfoy, not Pucey, not Zabini, but _her_.

But more than anything, he was someone who understood, and that feeling, that she couldn't shake. Wiping out the Noble Houses wasn't something she could ever talk about with anyone, but here he was, speaking about it as if it was just a normal step in life, sandwiched somewhere between OWLs and graduation.

She shook away the excitement whirling around in her stomach, and forced herself to reason as to why this was a bad idea, why she shouldn't trust the teenager stood before her, arms crossed as he waited patiently for her thought process to come to an end.

"My cousin is a Noble House Heir," Daisy pointed out.

"Exceptions can be made," he said, waving a hand to dismiss the idea of it being a problem. "After all, is it not we not the ones who will choose who is worthy or who is not?"

"We?"

"Yes, we, Daisy. You and I shall make a list of those who are worthy and unworthy. We'll have plenty of time given that you're stuck here for the foreseeable future. We do have to pass the time somehow."

Daisy found herself smirking back at him. "Yeah, I suppose."

"All I ask of you Daisy, is that you get me to Hogwarts, and that once we are there, that you trust me."

"For what?"

"I will need you."

"To do what?"

"To close the Chamber."

"Why?"

"Always with the incessant questions," Tom sighed. "Because I am rather fond of Manasa, and if left alone, I am afraid that she will expose herself and get herself killed."

"Who is Manasa?"

"The so-called monster in the Chamber. She's only a Basilisk." Daisy looked confused. "A basilisk is a snake, a rather large one, and a very ancient one. They sleep unless awoken. Their parts are highly sought after, especially since breeding them has been illegal for such a long time. I need to put her back to sleep."

"What happens if you don't put her back to sleep?"

"She will hunt, and she will kill."

"Well, that doesn't leave me with much of a choice, does it?"

"Oh, we always have a choice, Daisy," Tom smiled, "And the one you've made, it's the right one."

* * *

Daisy hated her father.

She'd said this a few times in her life before, but it had always been in a fit of anger, and a way to guilt trip him into thinking about his actions, back when he cared about what she thought of him. Now she was rather certain of it as she paced the middle of her room anxiously, trying to think of what to do. He'd locked her in her room. She'd heard him drilling that morning as she was sat downstairs having breakfast with Dudley, but it had never crossed her mind that he'd been installing a bloody lock system on her bedroom door. It also hadn't crossed Daisy's mind that her father knew how to use the tools he sold. Her bruised shoulder, and her multiple, unsuccessful, attempts to break down the door were testament tot that. And with her mother also on her way to Smeltings to drop of Dudley (usually just their father took him, but Petunia wanted to have a word with the school nurse, utterly unconvinced by the doctor's assessment that a healthy diet and exercise was what her baby boy needed), there was no one to trick into letting her out.

So here she was, locked in her room, and slowly, but steadily, running out of time. According to their estimate, they had until nine o'clock that evening to get through the Hogwarts gates, and even that was dangerously generous, since it was going off of Tom's knowledge from half a century ago. Daisy had never felt the need to check the time the train dropped her off at Hogsmeade station each year.

She walked over to where The Diary lay open on the table, in case Tom had come up with some bright ideas since she'd informed him of this turn of events.

_- Have you tried opening the door? _

- With what? Magic?

_- Why, yes, exactly that. _

- You know accidental magic is just that right? An accident. It can't be controlled.

_- And do you class wandless magic as accidental magic?_

- Do I look like Merlin to you?

_- Do I? Stop arguing with me and go and unlock the door. Will it to open. You are a witch; it's not because you don't have a wand that you can't use your magic. Focus on the task ahead, and will it open._

Daisy pulled a face at The Diary but did as she was told, figuring that she might as well try - he'd never let it go if she didn't. Squaring up to the door once more, she closed her eyes, placed her right hand on the door, and concentrated her thoughts until the only thing she was thinking of was the door opening for her, that she would be free, that she would find herself on the other side. When nothing happened, she began whispering 'Alohamora' over and over again until it became a steady mantra. If it worked for Notice-Me-Not…

- It's not working.

_- Well. At least you tried. Your best bet then is out the window. _

- That's a little extreme, don't you think?

_- There is an extreme, and you will most definitely not like it. So I suggest you get dressed, jump out of that window and get to Hogwarts. _

- Since you asked so nicely.

She closed The Diary with a little more force than necessary, and took no care as to how she threw it in the bag that had been packed two nights prior (at Tom's insistence), hoping that he could feel pain, or in the very least sense her annoyance. She hated when he got like that. Yes, he was older, and yes, he was the Heir of Slytherin, and yes, he knew a whole lot more about things than she did, but she got enough of _that_ particular attitude in her House. It was irritating because it made her question whether Tom's talk of ruling the wizarding world together was just that – talk. Though they were growing steadily closer, the suspicion that he was only using her as a means to an end and telling her what she wanted to hear seemed to never waver, only strengthen. She was still undecided as whether it was the beating her pride would take or the crushing disappointment that would hurt the most if that turned out to be the case.

_Oh well,_ Daisy thought, as she opened the window, the cold January air instantly chilling her cheeks, _it's too late to turn back now_. Either way, the consequences of not following this through looked pretty dire. On the one hand, if there was indeed a Basilisk about to let loose and begin eating students, she'd never forgive herself if someone she cared about got hurt when she had the power to stop it, and on the other hand, she had no idea what Tom would do to her if she went back on her word. He didn't seem the forgiving type, and she wasn't in hurry to find out what he was capable of doing when he was angry.

Head sticking out of the window, she surveyed the scene to determine the best method to do this. There was no gutter to shimmy down or anything similar to hold on to in hopes of scaling safely down the wall to the garden below. The only alternative appeared to be actually jumping out of the window. True, it was very likely that her accidental magic would help her, but there was also a chance that she was going to get very, very hurt.

Climbing onto the window ledge, she positioned herself, took a breath and jumped.

She'd never let out so many expletives in her fucking life.

It hadn't occurred to her that jumping onto the stone terrace that gave way to the grass might hurt in general, let alone what would happen if her accidental magic didn't kick in the way she wanted it to. Her ankle was on fire. If there was an art to jumping out of a window unharmed, she had yet to master it; the awkward landing she'd just executed was proof enough. She swore repeatedly, too shocked and disappointed by this setback to even cry, and lay on the icy ground, clutching her right calf to her body, rocking side to side, as if this might alleviate the pain in her ankle in some way. What was she going to do?

_What you always do_, she told herself, blinking away the tears. _You're going to pretend like nothing hurts_. That had to be the magical part of her tumbles. She'd always refused to take a fall and then lie there and cry about it; she'd always pretended like the entire Common Room wasn't staring at her, sneering at her, already planning her next fall. No, she'd always got up and dusted herself off.

She cried out getting onto her feet. She winced with every step she took towards the garden gate, her mind screaming at her that she was crazy. She was hurt and thanks to her little pause on the wet ground, she quite cold. No matter. There was only what should be a half hour walk to the station and then she should be in a warm train on her way to the Leaky Cauldron. And then to Hogwarts. Where hopefully the Heir of Slytherin she was carrying in her backpack wouldn't try and kill her. Or Harry. Or Millicent. Or anyone. Not yet.

"What in the world do you think you're doing?"

Daisy started at the voice. So concentrated on making it to the end of the alleyway she hadn't noticed Mrs Harris until she spoke. Her house was on Wisteria Walk but the garden faced those of Privet Drive, and if the harrowed look on the woman's face was anything to go by, she'd just witnessed Daisy jump out of the window.

"Are you hurt?" Mrs Harris tried again. "What a silly question – of course you're hurt, you just jumped out of a window! Let's get you inside and – where are you going? Daisy! Daisy!"

Daisy had set off again, a steady hobble in the general direction of the train station. Her neighbour's calls for her to turn back faded into the background as she continued her determined walk, teeth permanently gritted against the pain she felt with every measured step. Even with the distant toll of church bells telling her that her calculation of a half hour to an hour walk had been off, she kept walking. There was no way a broken – no, sprained – no, _bruised_ ankle was going to stop her. The plan had already suffered more than enough setbacks. At least now she'd be able to tell Tom that his plan was just plain stupid; her plan of pretending she had some magical disease had clearly been much better. And warmer. And less painful.

Had she been able to, she would have broken out into a run when the vaguely familiar building of the train station came into view. The warmth of the building sent her extremities tingling, and she fumbled with her change at ticket machine probably drawing the attention she hadn't wanted to draw by going to the ticket counter. She'd gotten a few odd looks on her way there, and she tried to ignore the occasional glances as she waited for the 16:23 Southeastern train to London Waterloo. It was an hour wait, but she figured that her parents had already been to the train station and were now looking for her elsewhere. And besides, if anyone asked she was a had been _her_ ingenious idea. She was wearing Dudley's beanie, his hoodie over her layers of clothes and she'd occasionally practised talking in a deeper voice as she walked by way of distraction.

But thankfully, nobody stopped her. The train arrived at the platform, and she hobbled on, trying desperately to ignore the pain in her ankle and hoping that by the time she got to London she could have somehow willed it into not hurting anymore. Looking around to check that nobody could see what she was up to, Daisy reached for The Diary.

- Can I just say that jumping out of the window has got to be the most stupid suggestion you've made so far. I can't believe I listened to you. I must be going mad.

_- Where are you? Please don't tell me you're still in your garden, whinging about a little sprain. _

- Thanks for the concern. Given that I just walked about a mile on that 'little sprain' I'd expect a little gratitude. While I _am_ mainly doing this because I would like my friends not to get eaten, I'm also doing this to help save Manasa. So you know, you could pretend to be a little sympathetic.

_- Oh, I'm sorry. Are you alright, dear?_

- No, actually, I'm not. I'm in pain.

_- That's too bad. Now if it wouldn't be too much trouble, tell me where you are. _

- I'm on the train to London. Geez.

_- Good. Do you remember how to get to the Leaky Cauldron?_

- Yes, we only went over this a million times. I also know what the plan is for sneaking the Floo powder, and if I get there before seven, I'll Floo to Hogsmeade and if not, I'll order a Butterbeer, sit in a far corner, and we'll improvise.

_- Where in Hogsmeade are you Flooing to?_

- The Three Broomsticks. It's busy enough to be discreet, and it's not uncommon for students to Floo there if they haven't made arrangements to Floo into Hogwarts. I know what to do. I thought we were going to trust each other. Trust that I can do this and that if anything goes wrong I'll let you know.

_- I come from a time where the incompetence of females was a fact. _

- Hey! Manasa is female.

_- Don't even try to compare yourself to her. But I will leave you or otherwise I will be tempted to double check that you are capable of basic things, like disobeying your parents and running off to Hogwarts with a sixteen year old Heir of Slytherin and helping him save the creature within the Chamber._

- Only in exchange for the basic courtesy of you not killing my friends.

He did not reply, but Daisy could imagine his dismissive smirk. Putting him away, she leant back in the chair, watching the quickly darkening sky, whilst wishing over and over again that the throbbing pain would just go away. However, by the time the train pulled into the station, the pain was still very present, but stubbornness, determination, and wanting to prove something to Tom, allowed her to mix in with the crowd, doing her best to keep her walk steady and even.

Aware that she looked odd travelling on her own, though perhaps her height made her older than she might be otherwise be mistaken for, she stuck to a large group, seemingly composed of family and friends – German by the sounds of it - and patiently waited with them by the ticket barriers as they each passed through. As she did so, she caught the conversation of two nearby British Transport policemen.

"Any sign of her?"

"Well, the father says she's most definitely heading to London, so we can only assume she'll come off one of these trains at one point. We've not got much else to go on."

"Do we seriously have nothing better to do than to look for some rich idiot's runaway daughter?"

"Yeah, well, whatever Chief says goes, don't it? If she comes into this station, there's no way she's getting out unnoticed."

"You're shitting me. We're manning the exits? For her?"

"No, you dolt. _We're_ looking for her 'cause we have orders to – the rest of the team is gonna keep an eye out because they're not doing much else apart from standing around all tense waiting for something to go off." He sighed heavily. "I can't wait for all this rubbish with the Irish to come to an end. God knows I'm sick of it."

"You're not the only one. So, how do we even know she's not been kidnapped?"

"Neighbour saw her jumping out the window."

Daisy passed through the ticket barrier, walked to the nearest coffee shop, hands shaking as she ordered a hot chocolate, and took a seat in the furthest corner, trying to appear a lot calmer than she felt. She reached into her bag for Tom, casting furtive glances in the direction of the door, more concerned about a policeman walking in than anyone seeing her diary writing back. She did use a pen though, however much Tom complained about cheap Muggle ink, and she was grateful for the cold weather which made her keeping her hat on seem a little less suspicious.

- We have a problem. I just got to London and there are police everywhere in the station. Dad must have pulled in a favour from his new friends. I don't know how I'm going to get out.

_- Don't you think you're being paranoid? How do you know they're looking for you?_

- They're looking for a girl who jumped out of her window. Mrs Harris saw me.

_- They can't have every exit covered._

- I hurt my ankle in the jump, and even more now trying to walk without limping. I won't be able to outrun them, Tom. And they're bound to notice that I'm on my own and hurt. No matter what Dad says there has to be a limit to police incompetence.

_- We have one more option._

- What?

_- Do you trust me?_

- Why?

_- Answer the question. Do you or do you not trust me? Do you consider me, despite everything that might tell you otherwise, to be your friend?_

- Those are two questions.

_- Daisy, this is not a game. We are running out of time, and currently we have run out of options. It all comes down to whether you trust me or not._

Daisy didn't know what to say.

Of course, she didn't trust him. But really, it was more that she didn't trust him not to do certain things like not kill her friends and then herself and then find a way to get out of the Diary and take over the world and kill everyone who opposed him – without her by his side as he had taken to inferring. She didn't trust that he wasn't lying about a lot of things, or at the very least lying by omission. He had this way of changing the subject, or smirking at her, or grabbing her hand and whirling them into a memory, into another place, that seemed to make it all alright. She knew she couldn't – shouldn't - trust him and yet, she'd listened to every advice he'd given her. Did she not visit him within the pages of The Diary where she knew very well that he had the power to trap her there if he so desired? Had she not just jumped out of a window for him? What the hell was she doing in London in the middle of January if she didn't trust him?

- I trust you.

* * *

_**A/N**: "There is no good and evil, there are only those who are able to resist to my charms, and those who are destined to succumb to it. And me? I'm just misunderstood." – Tom Marvolo Riddle. (Totes legit quote)_


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four  


"I know you're awake, so you can stop pretending."

Daisy reluctantly opened her eyes. When the heavy darkness had left her only moments before and her eyes groggily flitting open, she'd prayed that she was still asleep, albeit in some sort of nightmare. She'd clenched her eyes closed straight after, willing her mind to wake up, for her to be staring at the pink drapes she'd hung up at home. After all, the last thing she expected - or wanted - to wake up to, tucked between unfamiliar sheets, was the unmistakeable profile of one Gilderoy Lockhart, blue eyes fixed on the roll of parchment before him, amongst the many littered on the large desk, pensively tapping an ostentatious blue peacock feather quill against his chin. Dull grey light filtered in from the window in front of the desk, telling her that it was day, but since using sun positions as a means of telling the time was something that had been off the Hogwarts curriculum since the popularity of wristwatches made up for the obvious disadvantages of the Time-Telling spell, so she could only guess that it was sometime between morning and evening.

But that was hardly her biggest problem. _That_ was figuring out how she'd gone from a London train station to finding herself in the company of _Lockhart_ of all people.

"Professor?"

Daisy purposely tinted her voice with groggy confusion, and sat up slowly, the dissipating sleepiness revealing that her body ached, and despite no longer feeling the need to sleep she felt exhausted.

"Unfortunately," Lockhart sighed, putting down his quill, a wave of his hand rolling up the parchment and placing it on neatly with the others, "The things that I do for you, Daisy, I should hope for nothing less than grovelling gratitude and unwavering devotion in return."

She watched wide eyed as he stood up in one fluid motion, and turned to her; her fingers curled into the dark blue sheets beneath her as he closed the short distance between the desk and the bed, trying to keep the fear bubbling in her chest to a minimum as she wished desperately that she had a wand. No, she wanted _her_ wand. There was a pitcher of water beside the bed, perhaps she could knock him out with that – if it wasn't who she was beginning to suspect it was. What other explanation could there be?

This Lockhart stood straighter than she remembered, his golden hair slicked back from his handsome face as opposed to a well placed tousled halo, and his eyes did not have that light twinkle – they seemed darker somehow, sharper. The Lockhart she remembered did not have blank expressions, and though he was far from a klutz, did not move with the same grace that this one seated himself on the edge of the bed with, watching her carefully. That said, since the Duelling Club Fiasco, Daisy had wondered if the Lockhart everyone knew and fawned over wasn't a mere act – she was almost absolutely certain that he'd purposely set that snake upon her.

Daisy swallowed heavily before she spoke. "I'm not sure I understand, sir."

He smiled, though this smile showed less teeth than was the award-winning Lockhart standard, and was much closer to a smirk. "Always so cautious. It is quite a shame that it is overruled by what can only be called as a complete and utter lack of self preservation. It does make one wonder how you got into Slytherin." He shook his head. "Lockhart was rather set on killing you, so I had to act fast. This-" He gestured to himself "-was the best I could think of under pressure."

"I don't understand," Daisy repeated. Lockhart wouldn't speak in the third person, would he? That could only mean – but how? She wanted to ask him outright, but she wasn't certain if it really was who she thought it was, or if Lockhart was deign to be called the Ravenclaw he had graduated as and this was some sort of trap. She waited for further explanation, but he continued to watch her. "Why am I here?"

"Are you hungry?"

The sudden question took Daisy by surprise. "No, I'm not hungry. I'm confused."

"Well, that's to be expected," he waved aside. "You've been out for a couple of days, so I imagine you're famished."

"A couple of _days_?" Daisy choked. "How long?" She frowned as he ignored another of her question, his attention now turned to the large wardrobe across the room. She'd only meant to be gone a day at most. "Professor! You don't understand." She rubbed her face with her hands, and let out a soft groan. "My parents are going to kill me."

"Those Muggles are the least of your problems," Lockhart sneered, perusing the colourful array of robes before him, before pulling one from its hanger and throwing it to Daisy. "There's a bathroom through there. Get washed up and then join me in the living room. I'll answer the thousands of insufferable questions you're no doubt dying to ask me then."

Daisy watched him exit the room, fingers clenched around the light blue robes in her hand, desperately wishing she knew what the hell was going on. Something had gone terribly wrong with the original plan – that much was obvious. And that _had_ to be Tom. This Lockhart had his abrupt mannerisms, the same disregard for her parents, and that lovely controlling touch. The question was, how had Tom become Lockhart? There was that potion – Poly serum, or something – that allowed a person to temporarily disguise themselves as another but that couldn't be it. Tom would need a body for that. She doubted that pouring a potion on the Diary would have worked. And he'd have needed someone to pour it. Well, that would mean that-

Daisy buried her head into the robes, hoping that they and the door would be enough to muffle her cry of frustration. How could she be so fucking _stupid_? They didn't cover possession in Defence until the Third Year, and it couldn't be more than a page mostly explaining that it was an exceptionally Dark Art, but she had _read_ that textbook! She'd been bragging about being ahead of everyone in Defence because she wasn't going to class and it hadn't once occurred to her that his insistence on trust was so he could take over her body. Actually, she could be forgiven for forgetting that – but how had she forgotten Quirell already? She suddenly felt sick.

Standing up much too quickly in an effort to get to the bathroom before her stomach got any smart ideas, she had to grab onto the bed post to steady herself as the sudden motion sent her head spinning. She'd never been out 'a couple of days' before and her body certainly didn't like it. Daisy felt like what she imagined being hit by a double-decker bus would feel like. As she shuffled towards to door that Lockhart had indicated to, she reasoned that at least her ankle had been healed.

The bathroom removed any doubt that she was in Lockhart's quarters. The traditional white tile that Daisy was assumed was the Hogwarts standard had been replaced by turquoise tiles on all the walls, with matching flooring of a dark blue tile that felt warm under her bare feet. In the centre of the room, was a large sunken circular bath that Daisy might have mistaken for a small pool were it not for the five gleaming golden taps. Did the man never take showers? She turned her attention to the bathroom cabinet, which offered her all sorts of products – including a hair potion that suggested the golden glow of Lockhart's locks were not as natural as he would like to have everyone think – but no bubble bath. Why couldn't wizards just do what was obvious?

Perhaps she would just have a soak in warm water. Baths always eased aching limbs, and perhaps it would ease the anger she was currently feeling towards herself. It wouldn't do to be angry at the only person who had her best interest in mind. Daisy gasped as the tap she turned on poured out frothy purple water, lavender scent soon filling the room. She had to admit that that was actually quite cool. Daisy could imagine Lockhart stipulating this bathroom as part of his work contract. Dumbledore had to have been desperate for a teacher if he would steep to such lows. Though given the way the job seemed to be cursed, he'd have no choice. Even so, was it so difficult to find a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who _wasn't_ trying to kill a member of the student population?

The water was just perfect, and she couldn't help the long contented sigh that escaped as she sunk into the water, the bubbles tickling her neck. Eyes closed, she tried to clear her mind. This was no big deal, she reasoned, she could get a handle on the situation – somehow. It wasn't like she'd let what was without a doubt a dark wizard with homicidal tendencies who had preserved his memory in a Diary that allowed him to possess whoever wrote in it, acquire a body. And not just any body. He was currently masquerading as one of the most-trusted celebrities in the wizarding world. The only celebrity Daisy knew of actually. But Tom _had_ said that Lockhart had tried to kill her. That made it sound like he'd only left the confines of the Diary for her sake. Did that mean that he was a… good guy?

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Daisy muttered, knocking her head into her hands, wishing it was a hard surface. Her action brought to her attention a raised scar across her palm. Images of a silver knife slicing across her skin, red droplets running of her hand, and symbols etched onto dark stone, something very much like the dungeons, but different, came to mind. Had she been part of some sort of ritual? The urge to drown herself in the purple bath water was replaced by the need to have her questions answered, and she finished washing up, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the bath. She felt better, and as her overly enthusiastic reflection let her know, she looked less hag and more fab.

Dressed, she left the bedroom, and warily stepped into what she had to assume was the living room. Lockhart was sat in an armchair, a copy of the Daily Prophet open in his lap. On the coffee table in front of him was a pile of sandwiches and tea.

"Sit," he told her, gesturing to the sofa. She crossed the room and took a seat as far as politely possible. "Eat. Your body will need all the help it can to get back to its normal state."

"Why do I feel like I do?" Daisy asked, reaching for a sandwich. She was rather hungry.

The look he gave her over the paper suggested he had been prepared to answer another question. "I had to borrow an extensive amount of your magic in order to make the transition into this body. Apparently Lockhart only has about enough magic to Obliviate and do some basic charms. Though I suppose he makes up for it with his mind. The things he had in store for you…"

"Could you maybe explain it from the beginning - please?"

To her relief, he folded up the newspaper and placed it on the arm of his seat, giving her his undivided attention, however unnerving it was.

"After I possessed you at the station, I proceeded to make my way to Hogwarts as per our plan," he explained, smiling at the not so subtle relaxation of her shoulders as she received confirmation that he was who she thought he was. "Everything was going accordingly until I ran into this fool. There's some sort Emergency Tracking Spell that teachers can use to track a student's magical signature – he used it to inform him of your return to the castle, and knowing you were wandless and officially recognised as a Muggle, he planned to get revenge for his humiliation. And well – I couldn't have that, could I?"

Daisy frowned. "What do you mean officially recognised a Muggle?"

"Your wonderful father had you removed from the wizarding world itself," Lockhart said – or well Tom, but it was hard to think of him as Tom when the man sat across from him was so dissimilar. "It was once a standard procedure, an option offered to all Muggleborn parents until the wizarding population could no longer allow them such a choice. It really is such a shame that Muggles breed and multiply like vermin whilst wizards stagnate and dwindle."

"That's why he took my wand!"

"It is indeed. Which is why _I_ had to decide my course of action very carefully. I only knocked Lockhart out of course, but if he woke up, he would tell everyone he could find that you had been in the wizarding world, which with your current status, would not bode well for your future. I did attempt to modify his memory, but I was met with too much resistance – he would eventually uncover it, and again, attempt to cause trouble for you. Killing him would raise too much suspicion. Eventually someone would put two and two together and blame you for the murder."

"So what did you do?"

"I dragged him to the Chamber. Manasa was greatly disappointed to find that you and he were not food. Once there, I was able to find the right books to allow me to forcefully possess his body. It would have been easier to simply kill him and take his body, but it would change the magical signatures, thus giving us away. The ritual took a lot out of you, and you've been resting since whilst I pretend to be this idiot."

If the train had left on the Friday, and he was here with her instead of giving class, it had to be the following weekend, so more than a week. Daisy poured some tea, trying to match his nonchalance despite already seeing the state her family had to be in. To be sure, she asked him, "How long have I been out?"

"Awhile," he answered, nodding when she looked to him to ask him if she would ask him if he would like some tea. Her frustration amused him. "Thank you. It couldn't be helped. You see, I created the memory so that I would naturally I seek the life force of whoever I possessed in order to allow me to regain a body. The longer that I remained in your body, the closer to death I drew you. It took a lot of control not to, actually."

"Thank you for that. And thank you for saving me from Lockhart. It's very…" Daisy searched the right word, figuring that the last thing the Heir of Slytherin, who also happened to be a boy, wanted to be known as was kind. "Unexpected. Unexpected but really not unwanted and very much appreciated. I can't believe he was actually planning to kill me."

"What exactly did you think would happen when you revealed him to be a fraud? Did you expect he'd just thank you for it and leave you on your merry way? Trying to bring legal charges against you would have brought more attention to it. The only option you gave him was to find a way to kill you. Were it not for your father's actions, it appears you were going to suffer a fatal accident during…Duelling Club, is it?"

"He'd already tried that. I suppose that didn't stop him from trying again. Wait – can you see into his mind?" Tom gave her such a look that caused her to blush, and reach for another sandwich in hopes to distract her from the embarrassment. After her face stopped burning, and she was carefully dusting off any crumbs of her robes, she turned back to Tom, whose expression was giving Lockhart a very foreign pensive look. "So, how do you plan on getting me home?"

His gaze turned back to her. "I don't."

"What?"

"Even if I had any desire to return you to those Muggles, I'm not in a position to help you."

"If I understand correctly, you saved me from Lockhart and Azkaban in order to have me stay _here_ for God knows how long?"

"This is far more comfortable than Azkaban or your life would be at Privet Drive," he stated simply. "Need I remind you that your beloved father has removed you from the wizarding world? You have no wand, and according to the details of the law Lockhart had sent to him, in a few months time they'll take your magic."

"I would never let that happen," Daisy argued, though she felt that there was less conviction in her voice than there might have been before. She was almost certain that she could find a way to make her father change her mind, but she then again, she hadn't even seen it coming. "You could sneak me out at night and Apparate me back to Little Whinging."

"And how exactly would I do that? Put you in a barrel and say I'm just delivering wine? Put you in my trunk and say I'm just taking a little holiday after a Christmas Holiday? Apparently Lockhart doesn't have his Apparition licence so I couldn't Apparate you anywhere even if I could somehow get you off the grounds without anyone noticing."

"How does a grown wizard not know how to- never mind. Just because he doesn't have his licence doesn't mean you couldn't just do it, anyway, right?" The look he gave her was answer enough. "Well, I could just walk out – pretend to be a student."

"The next Hogsmeade weekend is in two weeks, and Polyjuice is risky. If you are caught, it will mean Azkaban. And they will use Veritaserum on you and I cannot allow that."

"There has to be some secret passage that-"

Tom cut her off. "Did you not hear what I said? Your parents removed you from the wizarding world. In a few months time a Ministry official will show up at your door and bind your magic. If you refuse, they'll just Obliviate you. You will have no memory of this world, of your magic, of the potential that you had. Those Muggles should be dead to you."

Daisy wanted to argue, to snap at him, but she held her tongue. They've had this argument enough times before. He didn't understand – _couldn't_ understand what it was like to still love your parents even when they threatened to ruin everything, because that's what parents do, isn't it? Besides, his tone had turned dark, the manicured fingers resting on the armchair drumming in a manner that almost dared her to push him further. Daisy had to remind herself that they were no longer just in his memories. He was out of the Diary now, he had a wand.

Still, after a long time had passed, and Tom had returned to the _Daily Prophet_, she couldn't help but ask once more, her gaze cast downwards on the hands clasped in her lap.

"Is there really no other option?"

He gave it a moment's thought.

"I could kill you, if you like."

* * *

Tom had come to find that he quite enjoyed the time he spent in the staffroom. He'd caught glimpses of it as a student, and had anticipated the Head Boy privileges that would grant him regular access to join the monthly staff meetings held at the large oval table erected for this purpose. He watched Flitwick conjure it from his vantage point; an armchair near the window, tea balanced on the arm of it, surrounded by the pile of projects he'd collected this week that still had him wondering what Lockhart had been thinking despite having access to every recess of his mind. Tom simply could not grasp how a man could love himself to the point where he was willing to read hundreds of essays – with accompanying presentations – all relating to himself. Even if a lot of what Lockhart did appeared to be for the sake of his persona, it couldn't explain away the man's inherent narcissism.

He gave up pretending to be engrossed in his work, every now and then flourishing his ostentatious quill, when more than half of the staff members had filtered in through the doors and taken up their seat on the table. Tom had learnt that Lockhart had not endeared himself to his colleagues, and so whilst he kept that ridiculous good natured smile on his face most of the time, broadening it into an infuriating grin when spoken to, he didn't speak to any of them unless necessary. He disliked being looked down upon and dismissed, even if it was as Lockhart, and even if it was the man's game plan. An emergency staff meeting had been called. As he took a seat next to Sinistra, who at least acknowledged him with a nod, Tom wondered if it had something to do with the Chamber.

Dumbledore was the last to arrive, as was the usual, as if he had classes to run or homework to mark that might cause him to ignore punctuality. Tom still found it as difficult not to roll his eyes at the man or at his ridiculously coloured robes even now that he had lost the last traces of ginger from his beard and should have commanded a twinge of respect.

"Thank you for taking this time out of your schedules," Dumbledore started once Flitwick had added a layer onto the existing secrecy charms on the staffroom. "I would not have called you here if it was not a serious matter. Severus has informed me that Daisy Dursley is missing."

"Why is it any of our business?" Tom asked, whilst the other teachers were exchanging concerned looks "The girl has been taken out of both this school and the wizarding world. She is no longer relevant to us."

"We suspect there may have been foul play. Her initial withdrawal followed a letter in my name informing the Dursleys that there had been attacks on students at Hogwarts that most certainly did not come from me, and there is reason to suspect that Mr Dursley's Gringotts bank statements were laced with compulsion charms. After all, goblins are loyal only to their gold."

It was the Muggle Studies teacher that spoke up next. Tom hadn't bothered to learn her name, and had no desire to. "What are you suggesting, Headmaster?"

"Somebody has taken Daisy. There are an innumerable ways of luring her out, and once outside the wards, it would have been easy to grab her. I can only say who I suspect but with little certainty."

Tom's interest peaked. There were wards in Little Whinging? It made sense. Harry Potter was their beloved Boy-Who-Lived. Even if the Muggle world was a natural repellent for most wizards, they would need something more than that. It was strange that they had placed him with Muggles though, especially the Dursleys. His time in Daisy's body and access to her memories had revealed that her parents really should have been the last people to take in _anyone_ with known magic, not even their daughter. What were the old man's reasons?

His thoughts on the possible nature of the wards, and whether they would keep him out should he try to return, caused him to miss the conversation that was going on, catching only the end of the wizened Care of Magical Creatures teacher's opinion on matter.

"- then she is more than likely dead."

"There's always the possibility that she's in a dungeon somewhere," Sinistra offered from beside him. "Trying to narrow it down to one would be like searching for a needle in a haystack."

"Could this be You-Know-Who's doing?" Minerva asked. Tom often found himself reminding himself not to stare at the dark haired witch as his mind tried to fill in the years between the girl who had reprimanded him for showing up two minutes late to Prefects round to the proud Head of Gryffindor. "Miss Dursley was involved in the affair last year. Could she have found herself caught up in something similar? After all, she and Potter were both looking for answers as to who is behind the attacks."

"I could not say," Dumbledore said, his head resting on steepled fingers. "I believe that the opening of the Chamber the last time was his work, and I feel that it may once again be the case, but I cannot figure out how he would have gotten in the castle. However, if there is a war to come, then Daisy would be an invaluable bargaining chip. Harry has come to care for his family."

"I doubt that will last long when he returns and their daughter does not," Snape scoffed. Tom had yet to make his mind up about this Head of Slytherin. The conclusion he had come to so far was that he was not like Slughorn, and that there was something about the sallow-faced that drew him – perhaps it was his magic? "Since we have no leads, the best way is to proceed by elimination. I ask that you keep an ear out for goading from members of my House or odd behaviour. If one of them has her, they will find it difficult to keep it to themselves. Unfortunately, Dursley has a knack for making enemies so it's very hard to narrow it down to just a few."

"And you say that _I'm_ dramatic," Tom said. He smiled broadly as they all turned to him, none of their faces friendly. "Isn't it obvious what's happened here?"

"Feel free to enlighten us Gilderoy."

"She's _run away_." He made sure to make it sounds like it was the most obvious option and that every single one of them sitting before him had just wasted precious minutes of their lives they would never get back trying to debate otherwise. "This is Daisy Dursley we're discussing here. Either she's finally pushed someone too far or she has friends she's run off to, to whine about her removal from our wizarding society. Take that slanderous book for instance, she got that from sources outside the country. How long has she been gone? Surely it's long enough to hop on a boat, cross the Channel and seek asylum with another Ministry on the Continent. Good riddance, I say."

"Dursley is not the type to just run away," Snape snapped, betraying a suspicious amount of emotion. "That would require her to have common sense. As for her removal from the wizarding world, Dursley has convinced three-quarters of House Slytherin and their parents that she is the Heir of Slytherin. I doubt convincing her parents that they made a grave error of judgement would be a problem."

"I will prove it to you."

"You shall what?"

"I said I'll prove it to you. After all, I _am_ world renowned for my feats, Severus. Perhaps you should try reading one of my books, though I've noted you turn them into the most marvellous coasters," Tom said airily, waving a hand in the air dramatically for added obnoxiousness. "Tracking down a wayward Muggleborn would be child's play. It is only a shame that I have _all_ these classes to teach. I couldn't possibly go and search for her now."

"I would cover those classes," Snape offered.

Tom gave the appropriate look of confusion. "But how? You already teach a core class all by yourself. I could never burden you with more than you need to take on. It simply wouldn't be fair. No, I shall have to stay."

"I'm sure we could find some recent graduates to cover your classes," Sprout suggested, "Your curriculum is hardly…taxing."

"Well, if you insist-"

"We do," Kettleburn cut in, "Heartily. Take all the time that you need. Don't come back until you've found her."

Tom turned to Dumbledore, who was watching him over his half moon glasses. "Headmaster? Do you approve of my quest?"

"I do not see how I could not," Dumbledore said neutrally. Tom wasn't sure if he was referring to Lockhart's incompetence making his absence the best thing to happen to his students or the mutiny that would occur if he was forced to stay. "You are free to go."

"In that case, I shall take a couple of days to prepare and then I shall be off. I will have her back in no time at all," Tom announced. "Wherever the trail shall lead, I will follow, wherever she is hiding I will find her, and bring her back so you can all see that she is nowhere near as innocent and helpless as Severus would have us all think. However, on the off chance that she _is_ in danger, you have my word as member of the Defence League that I will stop at nothing other than her safe return. Whether I think she deserves whatever she gets matters little. As a sworn protector, I will endeavour to find her if it's the last thing I do!"

Snape's response was predictably acerbic.

"What would we _possibly_ do without you?"

* * *

_Harry,_

_Daisy is missing. She's gone. We thought she'd ran away, but we're beginning to think someone took her. We don't know. All we know is that she's gone._

_If you hear from her, let Professor Snape know immediately._

_Aunt Petunia_

All the sound in the Great Hall seemed to disappear as Harry read the note that Hedwig had returned with, nipping his finger in that way that let him know that she had not appreciated the way she had been treated by the recipient of his last missive. He didn't even think to reach over and give her some bacon, or notice when Ron did it for him anyway. He was too busy trying to wrap his head around the fact that apparently Daisy was gone, that the reason she wasn't sat across the Hall or next to him winding his friends up was because she was missing. When he'd written to his Aunt to ask where she was, he'd thought that he'd get a confirmation of what Malfoy had been bragging about: her parents had taken her out of school for her safety. He'd never expected _this_.

"Harry, mate? You alright?"

Ron was looking at him from across the table, face filled with concern.

"Daisy is missing," he whispered.

He wondered how long Snape had known. It was just like the greasy git not to say anything. No matter what Daisy said, he didn't like her Head of House. He made Harry feel uneasy somehow, not to mention the penchant he had for doling out slights and weeks' worth of detentions to anyone who wore the red and gold tie. How long had she been missing? Why hadn't he been told? Had he not written to them first, would he not have known until he arrived at King's Cross Station at the end of term to find no one there to retrieve him? He'd get the blame for this somehow. Harry glanced up at the Staff Table. Had McGonagall known? Then again, if the Dursleys hadn't felt the need to inform him, then perhaps McGonagall had felt that it was not her place to let him know, though it would have been nice of her. He felt odd, like his anger and his hurt at being kept in the dark was meeting with the worry and fear he felt for Daisy and neutralising to make him feel…numb. How could Daisy go missing? Daisy wasn't the sort who just went missing.

His gaze fell to the Slytherin table, where Millicent caught his attention. She too had a letter in her hand. When she got up and he followed instinctively, not even hearing the calls from Ron asking him where he was going.

"Millicent!" he called. She was surprisingly fast, having to half jog to follow her through the corridors. "Millicent, wait!"

He realised she was crying as he caught up to her, and was too busy thinking he had never seen Daisy's friend cry before to quell his shout of surprise when she suddenly pulled him into one of the empty ground floor classroom. For a moment they just stood like that, Harry not quite sure what to do with himself as he watched her cry, her hand still on the door she'd slammed shut. It made her face red, and the swipes she made at her eyes and nose did not seem to be doing much. He didn't know how to comfort her.

"I told her that this was going to happen!" Millicent snapped without warning. "I warned her not to mess with Slytherins but she just had to! She just-" She slid to the floor as a desperate sob racked her body, wild black curls falling loose from their tie to cover her face. "Why couldn't she just listen to me?"

Millicent's anguish was filling Harry with dread. She wouldn't have this reaction unless she knew that Daisy's disappearance meant something. He crouched to her level, hoping that perhaps the usually stoic Slytherin just had a secret melodramatic streak. "Millicent - what do you think happened to her?"

"Isn't it obvious? She's been threatening them for weeks! Pretending to be the Heir of Slytherin, seeing how far she could push them, rigging the bloody betting pool!"

Harry frowned as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. "I thought she was telling them _I_ was the Heir?"

"At first, but then –" Millicent laughed, hollow as she wiped desperately at her cheeks. "Of course! That's just _brilliant_! The good news Potter is that she's alive. Bad news is that she could be anywhere. In fact, we might never find her." She leant her head against the door, taking deep breaths as if she might cry again. Instead Millicent's hands curled into fists that she slammed against the floor. "That stupid, stupid, stupid bitch! How could she do this to me?"

"Millicent," Harry said, trying to get her to return her attention to telling him things. "How do you know she's alive?"

"She wrote journals – they have all these secrets, anything she found on the people who picked on her, overheard, dug and other things she made up. They apparently detailed everything that's happened to her since she came to Hogwarts," Millicent explained, shaking her head as she thought of all the things Daisy had been up to since – since they'd met. "She has a deal with a newspaper or a journalist – I don't know. They're meant to be published on her death, so she must be alive. Stupid cow thought that'd be enough to deter them. As if that would stop them from getting to her!" She met Harry's gaze. "They're going to torture her. They're not going to stop until she tells them where they are."

"Maybe we can get to her first. Do you think you can find out who it is?"

Millicent shook her head.

"I'm not that fucking selfish," she said bitterly. "My Dad's a Muggle. I'm not stupid enough to go pissing off people who've left us well alone to try and get back someone who didn't even stop to think about what she'd do to all the people who care about her if she got hurt." She gave a final sniff and hoisted herself off the floor. "She made her bed. She can lie in it."

"Millicent, please!" Harry tried, stopping her as she moved to leave. "You don't mean that. You're her best friend. I think…you might be the only true friend she's ever had. Help me find her. At least, if you hear anything, let Snape know. _Please_."

She wrenched her arm out of his hold.

"She's gone, Harry."

* * *

The morning of their little expedition, or rather, Lockhart's rescue mission, dawned crisp and cold.

Daisy thought it was in her best interest not to point out the hypocrisy in that whilst he had deemed Polyjuice too risky for her to use on her own, Tom apparently saw no harm in using a lock of a reader's daughter's hair to have her pose as a volunteer assistant for the journey. He'd hired a chauffeured magical car for the occasion – Lockhart's favoured mode of transport, according to Tom – to arrive at the crack of dawn. She had then stepped into the trunk that he reassured her had been lined with cushioning charms, which Tom had carried down to the car, where he let her out. Unless anyone was spying on them, it would appear that he had gone to greet his assistant, a pretty buxom brunette in her twenties. It felt odd to be somebody else, but she imagined Tom had it worse. By the time they were in the car, the potion would have worn off. Tom had to be in Lockhart's body all the time.

Daisy also thought that this was a ruse that they could have pulled off much earlier with some lie about being interviewed or something, but judging by Tom's recent quiet, and the amount of time he spent at the desk scratching away at a parchment, some days still in the same position that she had left him the night before when Daisy awoke, made her think he had some sort of plan other than getting her home. She didn't think it was a good idea to try and find out what it was until she was safely out of the castle lest he change his mind.

At least her body had healed somewhat. Though she felt more tired than usual, her body didn't ache like it did when she had first woken up, and she might have gotten more sleep if she could rid herself of the guilt of making her family worry. She knew her mother was going out of her mind with worry, and Dudley would be worried – he knew about the Slytherins and would no doubt jump to conclusions. Sometimes Daisy wondered about Millicent, but quickly told herself that she had other friends. Besides Millicent wasn't the sentimental type and would probably think she had run away – right? Daisy didn't think Harry would be too worried. Of all the things her family had done to him, he probably thought this was just desserts.

And _then_ there was the constant worry that Tom was going to go back on his word. She trusted him not to kill her, but he was so vague with his plans that she feared that when he said she'd be reunited with her 'stupid Muggles' in due time, it could mean any time between this week and this decade. Pushing him for specifics had so far proved fruitless.

"Now can you tell me where we're going?" Daisy asked as she double-checked the supplies that had been packed into a leather satchel. Tom apparently didn't trust house elves to carry out his instructions as specified.

"We're going to find you," Tom replied, draping a navy blue winter cloak over her shoulders. "You almost forgot your cloak."

Daisy fingered the golden embroidery, and admired the deep red lining. "This isn't mine."

"It is now. Finders keepers." He slung a satchel over his own shoulder, Lockhart's physique cutting a strange picture in the black travelling cloak, and dark green robes. Daisy guessed that yellow and turquoise robes were hardly inconspicuous for a mission. "Let's go."

The early morning air stung their cheeks as they walked across the grounds, slush turned to ice overnight crunching under their feet as they made their way to the gates. An unspoken tension melted away as they crossed the gates – they'd made it. She turned to get one last look at the castle, an impressive sight even in the morning fog, wondering when she would be back – or _if_ she would come back - before she stepped into the car. Disappearing for a fortnight was hardly the best way to convince her parents to allow her to come back to Hogwarts.

The car was a warm welcome against the outside cold, with the dark brown interior sleek and luxurious, and yet spacious and comfortable. Daisy supposed it had to be if that was Lockhart's way of travelling around the country as opposed to something more instantaneous like Floo or Apparating. She was reminded of a black cab the way that glass separated the front from the back so that she could only see an outline of the driver's head, who could have been a goblin for all Daisy could see. The difference between this car and a normal car became apparent when they left the scenic country roads and passed through a town, the car zipping through cars and building traffic with ease, traffic lights and stop signs another thing that apparently didn't apply to wizards.

"Can we talk freely?" Daisy asked quietly, glancing towards the driver, before glancing back at Tom who had taken out a book soon after they'd set off, but had yet to touch the tome that lay in his lap, appearing instead to be deep in thought.

He nodded. "What is it?"

"It's just that I've been wondering - and I don't know why I never asked – well, I just assumed that – and it's probably a stupid question, but –" Realising she was rambling, and making herself more nervous than was necessary, she took a deep breath. "Tom, is Manasa asleep?"

"Oh no, she's quite awake."

It was quite amusing to him as he watched colour drain from Daisy's face, quite literally, as the tan skin of the reader's daughter gave way to the greyish pallor that was stubbornly clinging to Daisy's cheeks despite his insistence that she eat well and regularly, and the brown strands paling to blonde strands, and the brown eyes becoming light blue, now widened in horror, disbelief and anger.

"_What_?"

"She was quite angry with me," Tom said simply. "Tried to kill me, in fact, and point blank refused to go back to sleep without what she had been promised. So we came to the agreement that she could have any human of her pleasing, and the matter was resolved."

"_How could you_? You promised! You promised that nobody would get hurt!"

"Would you rather I fed you to her? Shall we turn this car around so that you can sacrifice yourself? So that they can carry on sleeping safely in their bed, never knowing that you died to save them? Is that what you want?"

"No," Daisy said tightly, "I don't want to die. I don't want anybody to die."

"That's not a choice you've been given."

"And what about the choice you said I could have between who lives and dies?"

"This was out of my hands."

"You mean you went back on your word," Daisy mumbled under her breath.

She gasped at the hand on her jaw, forcing her to look at him. Lockhart's face was terrifying when it carried Tom's anger, the blue eyes hard, his mouth a hard line.

"I _said_ that this was out of my hands," Tom hissed, his fingers pressing painfully into her jaw. "I don't appreciate you questioning the veracity of my word, when you are still _alive_. You thought I would kill you the first chance I got. Instead I _saved_ you. I am masquerading as this fool for _you_. You wanted to go home and I am taking you home. What more do you want from me?"

Daisy stared back at him, unsure of what to say to that. "You're hurting me."

"And you hurt my feelings."

He let go of her, and she ran a hand over her jaw. "I hope you don't expect me to apologise."

He snorted, shaking his head as he returned to his book. "Don't think about it too much. If Harry's a smart boy, I'm sure he'll survive."


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

"I need you to find out how advantageous this endeavour would be."

Daisy heard the sliding of paper against wood, and cursed that all she could see from her position under the rickety bed were the two men's legs where they were sat across from one and other at the table in the centre of the room. She'd had no choice in the matter. Tom was adamant that brewing the Polyjuice Potion was inconvenient; that disguise would be saved for when they _had_ to travel in public, but so far she'd had no reason to leave the room, and besides – it was safer that she was hidden away behind runic wards etched into the flaking metal of the bed and supplement by his own wards rather than out in the open where he could not guarantee her safety. He couldn't possess every person who tried to kill her, and dead bodies were terribly inconvenient to get rid of, especially given that they were trying to remain incognito.

"Pull the other one," Daisy heard the man snort, presumably at whatever he had just read on the paper, "Next you'll be telling me you got your hands on the sword of Godric fucking Gryffindor! I'm not having another one of your…_misunderstandings_, Lockhart. Life's hard enough with just the one ball, thanks – don't need to be losing the other one."

"What if I gave you my word?"

"That's what I'm bloody well afraid of. Give me something that actually exists."

"Very well. Here." From the movement of his robes, Daisy guessed that Tom had just reached into his pocket and handed something over to the man. "Do all you need to check its authenticity. I leave tomorrow at sunset. I'm sure you'll find it in your best interest to have all the information I require. I promise that you will be rewarded handsomely."

"What? No cries about me offending your honour? No threats? You sick or summat?"

"Why? Do I look it?"

"No, but there is something…_different_ about you." There was a pause as if he was looking over the Lockhart before him, trying to figure out what it could, before he sighed. "Ah, what do I care? I'll look into this, but if you're just wasting my time, don't come round these parts again, you hear? And this time, I mean it."

"You won't regret it," Tom said, standing up. "I swear upon my mother's life."

The other man laughed as he got to his feet. "That don't mean much either – you sold _her_ the first chance you got."

Daisy rolled away from the edge of the bed as the man's electric blue dragonhide boots clipped past, watching as he was shown out of the room, but waited until Tom gave the word before sliding out from her hiding place, pulling a face as she brushed away the dust from the front of her robes. Tom had used a cleaning spell when they'd first arrived, but apparently the rooms in _The Shrunken Head_ were the kind that were always dusty no matter what.

"What was that all about?" she asked. "Who was he?"

"A friend of Lockhart's," Tom answered. "For all the man's faults, he does have a rather interesting repertoire of contacts. Proving rather useful too."

"What's he looking into?"

"I shall be out this evening. What would you like to have me sent up for dinner?"

"Detailed plans of what you're up to would be nice," Daisy pouted, taking the seat that Lockhart's friend had occupied moments before, watching as Tom set about making tea, checking the black tea pot hanging over the fire. "I don't mind. I'm not that hungry anyway."

"Your body's still recovering. Which part of "close to death" did you not understand?"

"The part where you let me live. I suppose there wouldn't be much point in you being stuck in my body. I don't have all these seedy contacts and knowledge of the wizarding world that Lockhart does."

"I wouldn't have taken your body," Tom said, as he poured out the tea into the chipped cups that were hanging by the fireplace. "I would have taken your life to regain my actual body." He returned the teapot, before sitting down again and giving her one of his probing looks. "You don't need to know what I'm up to. Simply trust that it's in our best interest."

"Why are you so adamant about keeping me in the dark?"

"Does the word Legilimens mean anything to you?"

Daisy frowned. "Should it?"

"Tell me, have you ever noticed the twinkle that Albus Dumbledore has in his eyes when he's looking at you?"

"I haven't noticed. I don't really interact with him."

"I suppose you wouldn't given that he's your Headmaster as opposed to Transfiguration teacher," Tom mused. "Well, when I was in school, I found it quite odd, so I did some research. Apparently it's a sign that he's constantly skimming a person's thoughts, or at least attempting to. Legilimency is a mind art that allows a person to seek images, memories and thoughts of another person depending on the level of their skill."

"Dumbledore's a _mind reader_?" Daisy gasped. Of all the things she'd encountered in the wizarding world, Daisy found the possibility to read another person's mind to be the one she found that she wished could stay in the realm of make-believe.

"If you want to call it that."

"So you're worried he'll find out about you through my mind."

"You could say that," Tom answered. He added more at Daisy's frown, only too aware of the thoughts whizzing about her mind. "Our paths have crossed in the past and I would rather they didn't again before I'm ready. He is, after all, the great defeater of Grindelwald, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock, so-called Leader of the Light and an unfortunately all-round powerful wizard."

Daisy was no longer shocked by the derisive tone in which Tom spoke of Dumbledore. It had been that way since the beginning, Tom's handsome face filling with rage whenever he spoke of his former Transfiguration teacher, and since he had begun to look into updating himself on the world since the 1950s, Lockhart's deep, melodic voice had spoken of the Hogwart's Headmaster with nothing but dislike. She hadn't asked Tom about that, coming to the conclusion that Dumbledore had probably started his habits of favouring Gryffindors over Slytherins since the beginning of his teaching career.

"Is there no counter spell?" she asked instead, brows knitted together as she digested this most recent revelation.

"Occlumency is the sister art which allows a person to close their mind to a Legilimens' invasion. It requires a high level of will power and control over one's mind and emotions. There are far more Occlumens than there are Legilimens, and very few of the latter at that."

"I'm guessing that means that you're both. That explains how you're able to get under my skin." And how he could always guess when she'd like nothing more than to throw him off the nearest tall building.

"You're not terribly difficult to read. Even your manipulations become rather obvious after spending enough time with you. And surely even you can pick up on waves of murderous intent? As you currently are, you're an open book," Tom explained, sipping on his tea. "In most cases, that would make you a liability."

"But in this case?"

"I was a capable tutor – I could teach you Occlumency during spare moments. If you feel that you are up to the task, of course."

"Aren't you always saying if it wasn't for my parents, I could be just as brilliant as you?" Daisy grinned over her teacup.

"In your case it could also help you gain control over what you class as accidental magic," Tom continued. "From what I've seen and felt, your magic is fuelled by anger and frustration – emotion. Occlumency would enable you to channel that into something over which you have a semblance of control."

"Are you suggesting some sort of wandless magic? All the books say that it's rare."

"Is rarity synonymous to impossibility? I'm not saying that you will master it, I'm merely suggesting it is a possibility that should be explored given that you have the magical capacity to do so. You should always aim to push yourself to your limits, Daisy."

"So when do we start?"

"When I return this evening," he said. "You'll need a full stomach for this, and it'll give you enough time to practice clearing your mind before I attack it. We do not have the time frame for me to be gentle. I'll use the technique Mrs Cole used to teach us how to swim so we wouldn't drown in the Thames or the nearby canals."

"What?"

"Told us what to do and then pushed us in. You either learned how to swim or you learned to stay well away from the water."

"So I'll either learn to close off my mind or to stay well away from Legilimens?"

"If you fail at this, you'll leave me no choice but to Obliviate you."

"No!" Daisy cried. Blushing profusely – from the warmth tea of course, not from the embarrassing outburst that caused Tom to raise an amused brow - she quickly added, "I mean, please don't. I'd hate to forget everything you've taught me, everything I've learned, the conclusions I've come to. I don't want…" She met his eyes, her own full of conflicted emotion. "I don't want to forget you, Tom."

"You're very sweet when you want to be," he smiled. Daisy hated that it was Lockhart's face she was looking at. She wished she could see Tom's, but she couldn't have everything now, could she? He was already doing so much for her. "You won't forget me. The Sorting Hat once said that the friends made in Slytherin could never be forgot."

"I thought that was Hufflepuff?"

"Those can never be lost. Interestingly, I don't remember the Hat touching upon Gryffindor or Ravenclaw friendships in such a manner. Their kinship seemed to always be orientated towards something – to gaining and keeping knowledge, to banding together for some noble cause. I believe Salazar Slytherin held more affinity to Helga Hufflepuff than he did to Rowena Ravenclaw."

"Will you tell me more about it before you leave?" Daisy asked, eyes bright with anticipation. She loved hearing all of Tom's research, theories and ideological rants, but even more so when they touched about what he had uncovered about the Hogwarts Founders since his search for his inheritance had begun. It wasn't important or relevant but he indulged her anyway.

Tom nodded. "Of course. More tea?"

* * *

Daisy sat on a window ledge staring down at the bustling streets bellow her, absent-mindedly making a daisy chain as she watched the bustling street below her. Spending her days cooped up in whatever room they were staying in had given Daisy a certain affinity to people watching. The Paris District was so different from Diagon Alley, so much more alive, with so much more diversity in the characters that you could see walking down its winding paved roads. The inn they were staying in was right at the end of _Avenue Morgane_, where more than a few of the tall buildings that rose on either side of the narrowing streets needed a lick of paint and serious repairs, and where the covered archways and dark alleys trailing off from it explained perhaps why Tom had chosen this particular spot.

They had arrived two days ago, and he had her busy translating some French books that he'd managed to haggle from a dubious looking hag they'd passed on their journey there. The books in questions resisted translation spells, and Tom felt he had better things to do with his time, especially since she was there. She didn't mind. So far the research he didn't feel he needed to do himself had proved interesting, and Daisy had been meaning to find reason to brush up on her French. However having to constantle refer to the numerous dictionaries required to the task was proving to be boring. She was currently half way through the introduction.

It probably didn't help that she took frequent breaks like the one she was currently on, in hopes that a break to clear her mind and refocus might provide her with the motivation needed. Unfortunately, when she relaxed, she found that her mind kept wandering back to Hogwarts, wondering when Tom's Basilisk would strike. To think she'd almost felt sorry for the creature and now it was going to eat one of her friends. The possibility that it would eat someone she didn't particularly like or know, surprisingly, had yet to make her feel any better. She didn't even relish the thought of it being Malfoy – Daisy had an inkling that Parkinson would once again become completely unbearable without Malfoy to redirect her attention.

Daisy wanted to get a letter to Harry or Millicent and warn them, but she knew that it would be foolish. She had wanted to write to her family more, to let them know that she was alive at least, but Tom had found out her desire to do so during one of their daily Occlumency sessions, and his reaction had been – well, she certainly was more afraid of him now that he wasn't in the Diary anymore. Oh, he was still linked to it; their shared proximity meant that she had picked up on the fact that he carried it around with him everywhere, but not just in his pocket or something. Tom would literally strap the Diary to his person, often over his heart. But now he had a body and he had a wand, even if he was forever complaining about Lockhart's magical capacities, despite his frequent praise of the blond man's redeeming qualities. From what Daisy could gather, whatever Tom was planning was going well thanks to Lockhart's underground connections.

Not that Daisy knew what Tom was planning.

Even though she understood why he was keeping her in the dark, it didn't make it any less irritating, especially since she was having so much trouble figuring it out. It seemed to involve transactions of sorts, business dealings perhaps, but that could be anything. It was more that January was drawing rapidly to a close and he didn't seem inclined to bring her home. She didn't know what sign he was waiting for.

"Those books aren't going to translate themselves."

"Can you not do that?" Daisy hissed, clutching at her heart. She was a lot more jumpy these days, most likely a by-product of not having a wand when everyone else around her did, especially with Tom's constant warnings that the wizarding world on the Continent was far more dangerous than in Britain. "At least don't mask your magical presence as well. I'm getting better at picking up on that."

"And wandless magic as well apparently," Tom said, looking pointedly at the daisies in her hand. "Either you're very angry or you're improving."

"Both." She left the windowsill, laying her daisies aside to come see what held his attention by the table. "Anything for me?"

"I already brought you something – those books that you seem to be neglecting?" He smirked at her pout. "No, this was for me. Some days I feel I have much to learn and so little time. Technically, I have yet to even complete my NEWTS. Are you hungry?"

She shook her head. "I had some leftover bread for lunch."

"You know I don't like being lied to, Daisy."

Daisy sighed. His ability to pick up on even the whitest of lies was frustrating, even when she focused on mentally imagining what she was lying about. Was she really as obvious as he liked to tell her she was? "I miss my family."

"Are you already so bored with my company?"

"It's not that," Daisy hastened to correct. "If you let me say goodbye, I would follow you in a heartbeat – you know that. It's just that Mum worries and Dudley probably thinks some Pureblood's finally murdered me and thrown me in a ditch. If I was them, I'd want to know that I was okay too."

"Well, common consensus _is_ that you're in a dungeon somewhere," Tom said. "So you've been gone a couple of weeks? You're away at Hogwarts for much longer. I'm sure they'll manage just fine a little longer without you."

"How did you feel when you were in the Diary, not knowing when someone would come along and write in you? They have no idea what happened to me."

"You're beginning to irritate me, Daisy. I said I would get you home, and so I will get you home. You seem to forget with astounding regularity that your parents ripped you from your world. I stand by what I said."

Daisy clenched her jaw, but didn't push the matter further. Tom could grow particularly cruel whenever the topic of her family came up. She understood but it didn't mean that it pissed her off any less. Harry had been treated terribly by her family since forever and he still found a few nice things to say about them – Tom hadn't even met them, not really. Who was he to judge them?

"How long are we here for?" she asked instead.

"I'm waiting on a contact to pass through - can't be sure when exactly they'll arrive." He reached within one of the brown paper bags and pulled out a bar of chocolate. "I imagine you have a sweet tooth that I lack. Eat."

"Thanks."

With delicious Belgian chocolate and a nice cup of tea to hand, Daisy settled back at the small desk in the corner she'd set up camp at whilst Tom took the larger table, wondering why French couldn't be just that little bit easier. She was nearing the end of the introduction when there was a knock on the door. One look on Tom's face told her that it was not expected company. Gathering the books – last time she'd had to stay under the bed for a good three hours with nothing to do and nothing to distract her from her full bladder – she slid under the warded bed. She was thankful that this place was a damn sight cleaner than the establishments in Knockturn Alley and Dover.

From her vantage point, she watched Tom open the door, just a crack.

"Yes?"

"Gildy darling! You have no idea how long it took me to track you down!" Judging from the slight resistance that the door before the woman appeared, she had pushed her way in. Daisy watched her black snakeskin heels clipping against the floor and coming to a halt in the centre of the room. "I would be absolutely livid if it wasn't such a slow news week. There are only so many fashion pieces I can write before I gouge my eyes out. Feels like no one's had an affair in bloody ages. Merlin, I miss it when Fudge was young and unable to keep it in his robes."

Tom closed the door. Daisy wished she could see his expression at this woman who didn't seem to want to allow him to get a word in edgeways. Clearly, she was close to Lockhart.

"We had a deal remember? Any juicy news for _me_ is excellent continuing publicity for _you_." She clicked her tongue. "I thought we were close enough for you to at least have the decency to Owl before you left? Why are you here anyway? When I asked after you I was merely told that you were called away on an 'urgent mission'. Though knowing you, you could just be out here getting a haircut. It does look different-"

"Do you like what I've done with it?" Tom interrupted. He walked over to where Daisy knew there was a cracked mirror hanging on the wall. She imagined he was a good job pretending to be preening. The woman walked over to where he was stood.

"It makes me want to take you seriously, and that's much more sexy than that loveable hunk look you've been sporting. Ludo's had that look down since he was born. This...this you could work with. Increase your fan base beyond stuffy old house witches and enamoured teens."

"Oh yes? And who would I appeal to with this look?"

"A more sophisticated crowd. Like me for instance."

"Was that the only reason you came?"

"Of course not!" the woman huffed, her tone rapidly losing the sultry tilt it had acquired. She moved to the table, leaning on it. "I want to know what you're up to. You left in the middle of a job – _after_ you went on all summer about how desperately you needed to find something to work with and how Hogwarts was surely going to give you the angle that you needed for your new book. It worries me."

"I'm on an urgent mission," Tom said, repeating the term that she had used. His sigh suggested that she might have given him a questioning look. "Something else peaked my interest."

"Elaborate."

"You know how Harry Potter was raised by Muggles? Their daughter, his cousin – and an irritating little chit I might add - has gone missing. I, naturally, volunteered to track her down."

"Why?" There was a pause. "Gilderoy Jane Lockhart, you didn't. Tell me you didn't." In the face of his silence, she stepped forward and appeared to grasp his robes, shaking him as she demanded answers. _If she knew who that really was_, Daisy thought, _she really wouldn't be doing that_. "Tell me that she's alive! Tell me! Tell me that you didn't!" The woman let out a little growl, before she pushed him away, her walk seeming uneasy now. "Damn it Gildy! You promised me!"

Tom laughed. "Oh ye of little faith. I kept my promise. I don't have her." He stepped closer to her, pulling her close to him. "I promise you, I don't have her. I just love seeing your pretty little face scrunch up in annoyance. And I am loving the rhinestones." He let out another little chuckle. Daisy wondered what face the woman had pulled to incite such a reaction. "If you must know, I'm following a trail of informants – trying to find out exactly which dungeon she's holed up in, and then I'll find a way to get her out. Her father is paying handsomely for her safe return, and the public will just eat this up. In no time at all, the Galleons will start rolling in and my account manager will stop threatening to spear me. I'll even share if you like."

"You swear to me that you've not done anything to her."

"I swear it, Rita. How could even you think I'd do that to you? Hmm?"

There was an even longer pause than before and then – and then there were wet sounds, that Daisy had watched enough television to recognise by sound alone. How could Tom be kissing this woman that until a few minutes ago hadn't even known? Was she really that pretty or did she have something he wanted? Daisy's eyes widened as the clothes begun to slip off their respective owners with increasing rapidity, as did the woman's sighs of 'Oh Gildy, oh yes!'. They were coming closer and closer to the bed - Daisy closed her eyes at the bounce of the mattress above her, clasping her hands over her ears as the woman let out such a loud moan that Daisy wasn't sure if she was in pain or what. And she really didn't want to know.

'_This isn't happening to me_,' Daisy thought over and over as she struggled to block out the sounds of the squeaking bed, the sounds of what they were doing, the woman's increasingly loud noises and Tom spewing some narcissistic nonsense that Daisy reasoned was what Lockhart said when he did _that_ but it didn't make it any better. '_This seriously isn't happening_."

"Oh, Gildy! Gildy! GILDY!"

Daisy was sure that if it wasn't for the wards around the bed, she would have Apparated out from under it from a sheer desire to be anywhere else but there.

* * *

Several miles away, Harry wasn't having a much better time.

He was growing, literally _and_ figuratively, sick of the detentions he had with Snape; he and Ron were in detention every day after dinner until the end of the month, and then once a week until the end of term. On top of two hours nightly torture, Snape had somehow manage to deduct a grand total of three hundred points since he'd caught them over the Christmas break as they rushed out of the Slytherin Common Room. A quick chat with Malfoy had no doubt confirmed his suspicions as had a visit to the Infirmary where Hermione was currently being treated. Polyjuice potion didn't mix well with cat hair as it was, never mind the fact that Wonka was a cat borne out of multiple magical experiments. According to Madam Pomfrey and the Madams Bullstrode, it was a miracle the only damage was semi-permanent animal transfiguration.

"What I still don't get," Ron said, as he scraped out remnants of potions from the bottom of the cauldron he was working on, "is why Hermione didn't take a hair from Millicent's head, like a normal person would. That hair could have been anyone's. Even Snape's."

"You're just angry she's not down here with us, dealing with NEWT level Potion leftovers," Harry replied, struggling to keep his food down. How the Potion had achieved the furry consistency was beyond him. At least Snape was obligated to give them gloves, even if they had to do it by hand. "That said, she is in charge of all of Lockhart's fanmail until he comes back."

"I'd rather be doing that. Didn't I tell you guys to ask Daisy? It wouldn't have mattered if she was on thin ice, because-" Ron cleared his throat, his ears turning red as he caught himself. "Well, she probably would have figured something out."

"We'd have still got caught."

"But the Bat wouldn't have figured out we were the ones who dipped into his stock."

"No, he'd just have carried on blaming Daisy for something she didn't actually do. Ron, what if-"

"Nope, not this theory again," Ron said, blocking his ears against his shoulders. "I don't want to hear it Harry. Last time we thought Snape was up to no good he was actually on our side. Daisy saved him. He does _not_ have her locked up somewhere in the dungeons right under Dumbledore's nose."

"He must know something though! How-"

"I thought I said no talking," Snape said, as he came back into the classroom. Even with a walking stick, he somehow managed to slink into rooms and catch students unaware. "Or perhaps you enjoy being in detention? Given both of your family history, I really wouldn't be surprised if that was the case."

"Speaking of family," Harry said, ignoring his best friend's pleading look, "have you figured out which one of your Slytherins has my cousin?"

"What did I tell you the last time you asked, Potter?"

"That Lockhart would let us know what he found. But-"

"And what else?"

"That I shouldn't make unsubstantiated claims, but-"

"_And_?"

"But everybody knows Lockhart is a fraud!" Harry snapped, his frustration getting the best of him. Besides him, Ron mentally kissed away his freedom until the end of the school year. "Not to mention that he _hates_ her. The last thing he's doing right now is looking for her. He's probably on some tropical island by the beach writing his next book! You're her Head of House! You must know what's been going on – you have to have some idea which one of them took her!"

"Do not shout at me, Potter," Snape hissed, dark eyes narrowed at the boy before him. He tried to be…_nice_ to the boy, but it was terribly difficult when he looked so much, and at times acted, like his arrogant, impetuous, father. "I also told you that if you used an insolent tone with me again, I would make sure that Mr Filch received that assistant he's always asking the Headmaster for."

"You can put me in as many detentions as you like, sir. It won't matter as long as she's found. Aren't you in the least bit worried? Don't you _care_?"

"I could fill an entire roll of parchment with the number of times I told your cousin that she needed to curb her behaviour and proceed with care. She heeded none of my warnings. If indeed she is in trouble and has not run away, she is in part to blame. The school has even gone so far as to spare a member of faculty to dedicate their time to locating her. There is nothing more to be said on the matter. Now get back to work."

Snape, who had returned to his marking without another look in his direction, sounded just like Hermione. Harry could understand his best friend, as she was now stuck with cat features and the person they'd been attempting to protect was now gone making their efforts feel a little futile, but what was Snape's deal? How could he be so cold? Then again, McGonagall didn't seem like she would be much different. She seemed like the kind to listen to him rant before asking 'Are you finished Mr Potter? If so, if you don't mind, I have a lot of work to do'. In Harry's recent opinion, Hagrid would have made a better Head of House. At least _he_ cared. Harry had been to see him the weekend before, and the gamekeeper had at least been sympathetic and asked Harry if there was anything he could do besides offer him large mugs of tea and copious amounts of (not always completely edible) cake.

Ron thought Harry was taking it a lot harder than he'd expected. Sure, Daisy was his cousin, but they could go months without speaking and she could be a right pain in the neck if she wanted to be. Harry just didn't know how to begin explaining what the Dursley household would be like for him if he returned and Daisy didn't. Aunt Petunia had proved reasonable in recent times, as had Daisy and Dudley, so much so that he hoped the wishes he'd made to himself every birthday were slowly beginning to come true – he didn't want to go back to the cupboard, to the sporadic meals, to being ignored, to being beaten up, to being called 'boy' or 'freak'. He knew that these reasons were selfish, but why couldn't he be selfish? Why wasn't he allowed to want to keep the little things he had? Harry hadn't realised how much Aunt Petunia's little gestures of kindness like Hedwig, his knitted scarf, his earmuffs, the chocolate bars – and even the letter expressing her sheer disappointment – could mean to him until life threatened to take them away again.

So he pushed on.

"You never asked us why we were in your Common Room in the first place," Harry said, drawing Snape's attention back to him. He hadn't moved an inch, his gloved hand clenched tightly around the cleaning tool. "You never asked if there might be a reason."

"Weasley's twin brothers have been trying to gain access to the Slytherin Common Room since they stepped into this school," Snape said, pointing his quill in Ron's direction, "And you inherit your complete disregard of the rules from your father. I had no reason to ask and still don't. Now _sit down_, Potter or-"

"Malfoy was livid with Daisy for claiming that one of us was the Heir of Slytherin. He seemed to know something about the real Heir. In fact, he's been throwing the word Mudblood around a lot this year." Harry didn't miss the way Snape stiffened at the slur or allowed him to continue despite the interruption. "I only let Daisy continue to push the rumour that I was the Heir because she was desperate. I told her that we'd get to the bottom of it so she could have a normal year, so that she didn't have to go to the extent of getting herself kicked out of class. So that's why we were there. We were getting answers for Daisy."

"Is that it? Were you expecting me to suddenly gush with emotion and see that as a valid reason to break school rules?" Snape sneered. "Let us get a few things straight Potter, after which you will either sit down or report to your Head of House why it is exactly that you refuse to listen to simple instructions. Firstly, Dursley could have been on her deathbed and it still would not have excused you helping yourself to my stock. The Headmaster may tolerate your penchant for sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, but I do not, and will never do so. The next time I won't hesitate to bring legal charges against you to ensure that not even the famed Gryffindor preference will be able to save you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Secondly, kindly disabuse yourself of this notion that you appear to have of your cousin: she is not a victim. On numerous occasions, she was the instigator of whatever trouble she came across, or she fanned the flames by refusing to keep her head down as I frequently suggested."

"I know she's not a victim, but that doesn't mean she wasn't bullied. Neville told me-"

"And lastly," Snape stressed, raising his voice over Harry's complaints, "I suggest you learn to keep your emotions in check. The next time you speak to me as you have been doing, you will come to regret it. Difficult circumstances do not justify rudeness and disrespect. Am I making myself clear?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer when something else caught his attention.

_Master no more…let me kill…let me rip…come to me human child…hunger be gone…_

"Harry!"' Ron hissed, nudging his friend when he remained quiet in the face of an expectant and surprisingly clement Snape. Harry's outburst had incurred them no further loss of points, and Ron would really have like to have it stay that way. The Gryffindors were already going to flay them alive when they realised why it was exactly that they were suddenly trailing so far behind the other Houses in terms of House Points.

"The voice - I heard it again," Harry said, absentmindedly following the fading sounds of the hiss. He frowned. "The last time I heard it, Mrs. Norris and Colin were Petrified – and this time, it said come to me human child - and something about its master."

"What are you babbling about Mr Potter?" Snape snapped. "There was no voice. Sit down!"

"No! I can hear it!" Harry's eyes widened as realisation hit him. "It's a snake! Slytherin's emblem is a snake – I can speak to snakes – that's why only I can hear it! Sir, there is a snake in the school and it's going to kill someone!"

Before Snape could say anything else, Harry was dashing out of the door, trusting his instincts to lead him in the right direction.

…_hungry…so long…Master is gone…_

"It keeps saying something about its Master being gone," Harry told Snape, who despite having caught up with him, hadn't said anything. Harry assumed it meant that the difficult teacher was for once in his life giving him the benefit of the doubt. "And that it's hungry – but _where_ is it?"

…_time to feast…time to rip, tear…kill…_

Harry was pulled to a sudden halt by Snape, and Ron was winded by the outstretched walking stick that stopped him from taking another step forward. Snape had his eyes fixed on the ceiling, tracing the path they had just taken.

"The pipes! It's using the bloody pipes!" He pointed his wand at his throat, and the next words were amplified throughout the entire school. "_This is an emergency alert. All students and staff are to be aware that the corridors and bathrooms are extremely high risk areas. Stay in a classroom, your House dormitories or the Great Hall – whichever is closest – until further notice. This is not a drill. I repeat, corridors and bathrooms are high risk. This is not a drill_."

"Let's hope the snake doesn't speak English," Ron mumbled.

Snape resisted the urge to smack the redhead round the back of the head, turning to Harry instead. "Potter, do you think you'll still be able to sense the snake?"

"Maybe," Harry said, concentrating hard to get the same feeling he did whenever he heard the snake. "It's this way, I think. I can't be sure, but it feels right."

They ran through the corridors, taking staircases as fast as they could, doubling back whenever whatever was leading Harry pulled him back. Snape had the double work of casting protective charms on each classroom that he caught a student in – any student unlucky enough to be in the corridors was blasted into the nearest classroom without remorse – whilst walking as fast as he could with his bad leg. Which Ron, who was running alongside the Potions Master, had to say was surprisingly fast.

Snape was busy cursing the stupidity of Hogwarts students when Harry came to a sudden halt.

"What is it, Potter?"

"It's right beneath us," Harry whispered, his eyes wide as he stood rigid.

"What is it saying, Potter?" Snape asked. He frowned at the hissed response. "In English, Potter."

"Hunger gone…human child gone…sleep for now…Master gone...Master no more…"

"Someone's dead?" Ron squeaked, the colour gained from jogging after Harry draining quickly from his face.

Snape spared a glare for the redhead and his inopportune comments before turning back to Harry, his voice bearing a gentle edge that had never been directed at the boy stood before him, seemingly deep in thought, "Where did it come from Potter?"

Harry didn't respond, but set off at a slow run down the corridor, speeding down the stairs and-

"Don't look, Potter," Snape soothed, pulling the second year into his robes, warning Weasley not to dare turn the corner. "You did all you could. You did all you could."

It would be years before he stopped being haunted by the sight of the blood splattered walls.

Snape pointed his wand to his throat once more. "_All students are to remain where they are. The corridors and bathrooms remain high risk areas. Alcoves and secret passages are just as dangerous. Do not panic and remain where you are. You will be collected by a member of staff. All staff, please find me on the third floor, East Wing, near the girl's bathroom_."

"How will we know who it was?" Harry asked as Snape led him round the corner to rejoin a worried Weasley.

"We'll take all the students to the Great Hall and do a roll call. From that, we'll be able to figure it out." Snape reached out and gave Harry's shoulder a light touch before quickly withdrawing his hand, both understanding that it was the only gesture of comfort he could give, and the only one required. "You did everything you could, Potter. This was most certainly not your fault. Do not blame yourself for this."

Snape knew exactly who was to blame.

* * *

"What's that?"

"An update from Hogwarts," Tom replied, Lockhart's face taking on a boyish look as he grinned at the piece of parchment in his hand. "Manasa has made her move. Which means it's time for us to return to Britain."

"Finally," Daisy smiled, stretching out on the bed, disturbing the rolls of parchment littered at her feet. It felt like she'd been waiting for this moment since forever, given that she'd had no idea until moments ago what it was that they were waiting for. It had been enough time for her to slowly come to terms that someone was going to die, and like Tom said, the road to greatness was paved with many things, amongst them death and sacrifice. She could only hope it was a road worth taking. "So, when do we leave?"

"Soon. First there's something that needs to be done. Come here." Daisy looked at him warily, but got up, the wooden floor cold on her bare feet. He needed to reapply warming charms. She stopped in front of him. "Do you trust me?"

"Tom, what-"

"Do you trust me?" Daisy nodded, unable to bring herself to say the words, because they rarely signalled anything good. She shivered as he brushed a hand down the side of her cheek, Lockhart's blue eyes seeming darker than ever. "Good. Because I'm afraid this might hurt a little."

She could nothing when he waved his wand and chains encircled her wrists, and attached themselves to the ceiling so she that her arms were pulled harshly above her, forcing her to stay on the balls of her feet to keep the sudden weight of her body off of them. Another wave closed the shutters, plunging them into darkness save the few candles floating about the room. She felt the hum of the magic as an extra layer of wards went up around the room they occupied.

"Tom – what are you doing?" Daisy asked, twisting to try and see what he was doing, to see if his face might have some sort of answers. The movement hurt her wrists, but the panic building up in her chest was greater. "Tom!"

"Dumbledore is a Legilimens, and I suspect Snape to be one also," Tom explained calmly. "Although you're beginning to get a good grasp on Occlumency, we don't have the time necessary for you to hold your own or even be able to create a fake memory. And I need them to believe that you've really been tortured."

"Wait- _what_? Why? No! Don't do this! Tom! _Please_!" She struggled fruitlessly against the chains which did nothing more than cut at her skin whilst she could hear him moving about the room. "I changed my mind! Obliviate me! I don't want to be – _Tom_ –" She took a deep breath and stopped moving, trying to think about this rationally. "You can replace my memories with false memories instead, right? Can't you do that instead?"

"False memories look and feel like false memories. You won't know the pain of torture. And besides-" She gasped at the sound of her robes tearing down her back, the chill of the room hitting her bared skin. "- I'm so out of practise."

Daisy braced herself for the worst, but was met with silence, and a hand tracing over her lower back. The gentle touch sent shivers down her spine, not knowing what he was thinking as his fingers traced her skin.

"Tom?"

"Who did this to you?" His voice was a deadly whisper. "_Who_?"

His reaction brought memories of Dudley's a year ago after he'd burst into her room as she changed into her new Christmas jumper. Once she'd gotten over the fear that he might care more about tattling than her never speaking to him again, she'd been quite glad that he'd found out because it had brought them closer together. Tom finding out was different. It made her afraid.

"Tom, please-"

She winced as his inquisitive touches turned hard, his grip on her side growing painful as he shook her with each repeat of his demand. "Who did this to you, Daisy? Tell me!"

"You're a Slytherin," Daisy said slowly, gritting her teeth against the pain he was causing. "Surely you know how very little they appreciate a Snitch?"

"Why are you protecting them? You know that what I can do to you is much worse than what they will. I can feel your fear radiating off of you. And besides, that rule only applies to outsiders. There are no secrets amongst Slytherins, are there? Someone always knows something." He let go of her and moved to stand in front of her, pulling her face to look at him when she tried to look away. "Once I'm through with them, they won't be able to hurt you. I know, I know – you wanted to take care of them yourself. But as your friend, am I not allow to exact revenge on your behalf?" He stroked her head affectionately. "You want them dead for what they did to you, don't you? You want them to feel the same pain, but a hundred times over? I can make that happen."

"You don't need me to tell you. You said it yourself, my Occlumency barriers aren't nowhere near strong enough."

"Not the ones you control, no," Tom acquiesced, "But then there are those pesky natural ones. I suppose your mind had to shove that particular memory deep enough to allow you to even come back to school. You're such a bold little thing."

"If I give you the names, will you reconsider the torture?"

"No, but that does give me an idea," he said, his voice suddenly brighter. "We'll see how much pain you can take before you give me their names. And if you cheat, I'll be _very_ upset."

"Tom, Tom please don't do this," Daisy tried one last time, as she felt a familiar burn on her skin, increasing with intensity every passing moment. It spread a scalding warmth throughout her entire body, whereas scar tissue would eventually feel like someone was pressing a hot rod against her skin. Malfoy knew the spell, though his was nowhere near as unbearable. "Please, Tom! I'm begging you! _Please_!"

"You'll come to thank me one day. Your parents have kept you sheltered for far too long, spoilt you, kept you from any sort of real suffering. As you are, you are a shallow, entitled, pampered little princess. You don't know what real pain is, what the deepest desperation feels like, the kind that makes you wish you had never been born. But you will know it, and it will make you stronger."

"I jumped out of a window for you."

He laughed. "You did. And I'll be forever grateful." Daisy shuddered as she felt him nuzzling into her neck, his breath tickling her ear. "I'm going to have so much fun."


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

"We're almost there."

The girl stretched out beside him in the back seat of their chauffeured car with her head resting in his lap did not respond. Tom stroked her blonde hair absentmindedly as he watched the scenery roll past, brushing stray strands away from her grimy face. He felt an odd sense of pride in his chest; she had not disappointed him, she had not broken as he had feared that she might, though he knew he had pushed her close enough to it. It would have been such a pity, such a waste. He truly enjoyed her company - she often proved interesting, if not greatly entertaining. She reminded him of Manasa when they had first met; earning the trust of such an ancient creature had been harder than he had originally anticipated. Apparently speaking the Tongue did not a Master make, but it had proved an interesting endeavour, challenging and essentially worthwhile. Similarly, Daisy Dursley was malleable, naïve, loyal, almost…_innocent_ with underlying tones of darkness waiting to be coaxed out, traits that no doubt contributed to her making a good companion.

He was grateful for their meeting: he had regained a body much sooner than anticipated, and she had forced him to veer off his original course which he now was almost certain would have ended in failure had he persisted. Harry Potter's death could wait. First Tom had to know what it was about the boy that had allowed him to defeat the man who had become the greatest Dark wizard of his time, all at the tender age of one. He needed a concrete plan, one that could only come about once he had figured out why he had fallen so far off the track after the creation of The Diary. The world was not how he had imagined it. Why wasn't it currently bowing at Lord Voldemort's feet? Where had it gone so wrong? Until he had come across the numerous tomes that spoke of his defeat, he had never thought that he, Tom Marvolo Riddle, _could_ go wrong.

There were times when Tom found himself wondering what Daisy would think or do once she figured out who he was now. Would it matter to her? What would it change between them? Only time would tell, and that was frustrating at best. Though he possessed an inexhaustible reserve of patience, uncertainty he did not like.

And all the things he was certain about Daisy, whether she would accept him once she realised that his current self was not just any dark lord, but _the_ Dark Lord, was not one of them. Nor did he know exactly what he would do about the fact that there was now two of him in this world. Were he the main Soul Fragment he would have been able to subsist apart from The Diary, but even with a host body, he found he could not detach himself completely from it. His inability to do so meant that his older self was still alive out there, somewhere, for some reason or another unable to gain a body. He sighed. This was not going to be easy, but what was fun was rarely easy.

They had reached Hogsmeade, and soon Hogwarts came into view, revealing Snape and Minerva to be stood by the tall iron gates, cloaks pulled tightly against the late January chill. Tom hadn't expected their presence but he was not entirely surprised. Perhaps they thought he had been lying about his return, or that maybe he had been hiding her in his quarters all along and would charm the Matron into believing whatever he said if left unsupervised. He smiled at that thought - perhaps they weren't so stupid after all. Upon exiting the car, he entered into Lockhart-mode, giving an affable, completely inappropriate wave to the sour-faced man and his stony-faced colleague. Daisy whimpered when he picked her up, the movement jarring her wounds. Her fingers – half bandaged - curled into the material of his robes.

"Told you finding a wayward Muggleborn was a piece of cake," Tom said, grinning for effect.

"Why didn't you ask for a Portkey? Or have one of us come to you?" Snape demanded as he conjured a stretcher. "Put her on there, quickly!"

"You're _welcome!_ That's exactly the greeting I was expecting when I just returned of your little snakes safe to the – Daisy?"

He had laid Daisy gently down on the hovering stretcher, but was surprised when her eyes flew wide open, and her one 'good' hand tightened on his robes as he moved to pull away, betraying a strength that he didn't know she still had. Tom had done some rudimentary healing to ensure that she survived the journey, as well as strategic dosing of pain relief potions (it was truly fascinating how the human mind responded to comfort, however Spartan, in the face of excruciating pain), but she had not been this conscious since they returned to British soul.

"It's okay," Tom soothed, placing a hand over hers. "You're safe now. I've brought you back to Hogwarts."

"H-Hogwarts?" She turned her head, blue eyes frantically taking in her surrounding until they fell on the dark figure of Professor Snape, who stared back at her with his usual emotionless face. Daisy turned back to Tom, relief etched into every inch of her face. "You kept your word. Thank you."

With the whispered thanks she let go of him, her eyes closing again. Minerva took over the responsibility of moving her up to the Hospital Wing, Tom and Snape trailing silently behind her. Snape's bad leg still limited him, but Tom noticed that his walk seemed smoother than when he had last seen the greasy-haired Professor. He certainly manoeuvred across the icy patches clinging to the grounds with little effort.

"She didn't think you were going to bring her back," Snape commented, watching the man he thought to be Lockhart shedding his travelling cloak as they crossed into the stifling warmth of the Entrance Hall.

"Very mistrusting, that one," Tom laughed. "Not that I blame her, of course. She was in rather bad shape when I found her. Very confused. She was quite certain I was going to hurt her. Didn't believe me at all when I said I was bringing her home. I can't imagine the mind games her captors played with her."

"Where did you find her?"

"It's rather embarrassing but technically, _I_ didn't find her. Have to admit that it took awhile to accept that she didn't run away, as I originally thought, but that she might be in a spot of trouble. Luckily I have contacts in the right places, made a few bribes here and there, and _voila_! A friend of mine, at his own risk and peril and perhaps a pesky little Life Debt, found out where she was being hidden and brought her to me."

"Where was she?"

"Oh, he couldn't say. My friend lost his tongue a long time ago. Not surprising, really. He's not very good at keeping secrets."

"How convenient," Snape snarled, pushing open the door to the Hospital Wing. The Matron was already by the girl's side, manoeuvring her onto a Hospital bed, and beginning a diagnosis. "Who attended to her wounds?"

Tom morphed his face into what he hoped was an affronted look. "I'm not _completely_ incapable, you know. Broken bones just happen to be a little tricky," he huffed. "Well, now she's in the hands of a professional, I'm going to go have a shower, get some rest, get some food, get changed out of these awful clothes, and then someone can fill me in on what's been going on in my absence. Seems like Hogwarts just fell apart without me."

"Yes, I'm sure that's what happened."

Tom's jaw clenched at Snape's eye roll. He'd forgotten how much he hated being looked down upon, how much Lockhart himself hated being looked down upon.

"I found the girl, didn't I, Snape? _Just_ like I told you I would, whilst _you_ were sat on your backside doing whatever it is you do besides terrorising schoolchildren – half who happen to be my beloved fans. So if I were you, I would accept my competence in the matters of the Dark Arts. After all, which one of us has the job?"

Snape looked set to kill the man before him, or at least make sure Lockhart was on the receiving end of the sharpest of barbs he was capable of throwing, when their attention was pulled away by a commotion from the bedside.

"I'll tell you! I swear I'll tell you – please don't – no more!"

Daisy was trying to scramble out of the bed, but finding her exit possibilities blocked by the two figures that in her panicked state she wasn't registering as her Transfiguration teacher and the School's Medi-Witch. The frantic movements seemed to be causing her pain, but she was more concerned with keeping her hands out of reach.

"Miss Dursley, please calm down," Madam Pomfrey tried, keeping her voice calm and soothing. "No one here is going to hurt you. I just need to tend to your hand."

"No!" Daisy cried, her voice hoarse. "You're lying! Please – please just leave me alone!"

She had retreated as far back as she could, pushing away the pillows so that she was pressed against the headboard, placing as much distance as she could between them. Tom scolded himself for being surprised at this outburst. He had been far too fascinated with what he could do with her trust – and lack thereof – in him to consider that it would have long term implications. He'd tortured before, animals and weak humans, but never someone who appeared to somewhat _care_ for him.

Throughout the first phase, he'd alternated between pain and kindness, promising her that it would stop and then doing exactly the opposite. When he was gentle, she would struggle against him the most, refusing to believe a word he said at first, but he would eventually find the right words to soothe her. He always found the right words – it had been a skill Tom had picked up on very early on in his life and used to his advantage. The sheer desperation that had rolled off of her as she realised giving into him and fighting him had the same consequences had been intoxicating. During the second phase, he had tested how much pain and the need for relief could blur the lines between reality and fantasy. At one point, he'd have her believing that he really was her Professor, and that he had found her, administrating a pain relief potion to have her associate Lockhart with comfort. In her more lucid moments, when she remembered who he was, she promised to kill him. He made sure she regretted those words, though even in her most pleading form, her cries for forgiveness - '_I'll do anything - anything, I swear!_' - never seemed to reach the expected sincerity for the amount of pain she was supposedly in. She truly was amusing.

"We should give her a calming potion," Tom heard Minerva suggest, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you," he pointed out. "I haven't been able to give her a Pain Relief Potion since around London. She spits it out or at worse throws it up."

Madam Pomfrey frowned. "She's not allergic to any of the ingredients. Oh, you poor dear, what did they do to you?"

"Perhaps we could restrain her whilst you tend to her wounds?" Minerva tried again.

"No, we can't," Pomfrey said. "Did you catch those marks on her wrists? The pattern suggest that she's been restrained by chains. It'll have an adverse effect on her psyche even if we get her physically healed. She doesn't seem to be in any imminent danger, but I am worried about possible infections if left untreated any longer."

"May I? The girl does consider me to be her saviour." Tom didn't wait for a response before sweeping by her bedside. "Daisy, it's me – Professor Lockhart. You're not with those people any more, you're at Hogwarts. Let Madam Pomfrey take care of you now. No one's going to hurt you here."

Daisy blinked. Her eyes focused, and once again they swept over her environment, taking in the worried faces of Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, before lingering on Professor Snape, who kept his distance from her. She really was at Hogwarts. It wasn't a dream. Her dreams had never included the Gryffindor Head of House. She regarded Lockhart's outstretched hand with suspicion, but whether she trusted him or not, it never seemed to work out well for her. So she accepted his hand, whether it was Tom or if she'd made everything up in her head during the times she lost consciousness, and let Madam Pomfrey do her work.

She couldn't help but stiffen when the Matron unravelled the bandage over her left hand. Not because of the pain – no, that had become expected, an almost comforting constant – but because of the memories it triggered, the reason why she had momentarily forgotten where she was again. After the second fingernail she'd been ready to spill her innermost secrets, at the third she'd spewed everything she knew about the Slytherins having long given up the names he wanted, but he'd insisted on the fourth. Only experience of what happened when she did the opposite kept the murderous intent she felt bubbling up locked deep inside her at the sight of her gnarled fingertips.

"Barbarians," Madam Pomfrey muttered as she gently dabbed a pungent cream against the sensitive raw skin. Daisy had thought it would sting, but sagged further into the newly rearranged pillows at the numbing sensation it provided. "Of all the spells in the world that exist, who would resort to this?"

Tom stopped the edges of his mouth curling up into a smile. Why did anyone do anything? It had been fun. Curses lost their allure when they weren't fatal, and one of the thing he hated about Purebloods was their belief that magic was the only way to do anything right. Oh, Tom didn't dispute that those who wielded magic were superior to those who didn't, but a lack of magic had given Muggles a certain creative edge as to what they could do to one another, and he would be a fool to ignore those avenues.

"I'm going to need to undress her," Madam Pomfrey said once she had finished with the injuries that were accessible. "Perhaps it would be better if you gave us some privacy, Gilderoy."

"If you think that she came to me dressed in clean, winter appropriate robes, then you are quite delusional," Tom sniffed, "But if you insist. I'll be right outside the curtains, Daisy. There's absolutely no need to panic, all right?"

At her small nod, he moved to join Snape, who had not moved an inch from his position, his expression unreadable. It was tempting to try and see what might be going on in his mind, but it was not worth the risk. Someone so guarded that not even a drop of emotion rolled off of him had to be an expert Occlumens. Well, that or a cold-hearted bastard, but despite what most of the student body thought of their Potions Professor, he had cared enough about Daisy to do something about her disappearance. So much control might even suggest that he cared too much.

They heard soft voices from within the drawn curtains, but Tom didn't pay too much attention, letting his mind wander to inconsequential things as he waited instead. He didn't know if it was because he was in Lockhart's body, or because the showers in their various accommodations had been pitiful and therefore had fallen back on cleansing charms more than anything, but he was looking forward to a long soak in the man's extravagant bathroom. He was in the middle of contemplating how to change the fragrances of the bath water, when Minerva and the Matron emerged, both bearing grave faces.

"I've given her a Dreamless Sleep Potion, and healed most of her physical wounds," Madam Pomfrey said. "Some will take longer than others, some due to their nature and others because there was the beginning of an infection. It's nothing that should cause a problem, however. Once she wakes up, I'll be able to fully assess her mental state, and whether the intervention of St. Mungo's is necessary. I'd be worried about an adult who'd experienced something of this magnitude, but a child…"

"Did you know?" Minerva demanded, staring at her younger colleague, her face bearing so many emotions that it rendered it unreadable. "Did you _know_, Severus?"

"Know what?" Snape asked, his confusion apparent.

"How on Earth can you not have known? How could you have been so _blind_? How could we - how did Albus-" She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me. It has been a very long day."

Snape turned to Madam Pomfrey for answers. "What is she talking about?"

"Severus…" Madam Pomfrey too took a breath to steady herself. "Daisy has had the word 'Mudblood' branded into her skin. It appears to have been inflicted by Dark magic so I have little hope in removing it. I'll try, of course, but…" She shook her head. "The worst part is that... Severus, I'm afraid that she sustained this long before her disappearance. The colouring of the scar tissue suggests six months at the earliest."

Tom let out a low whistle, allowing a little glee to worm into his voice as Snape lost any hint of colour that he held in his face, "Nasty lot, you Slytherins, eh? Who'd have thought."

"Gilderoy, please," Madam Pomfrey scolded, "Now is not the time."

"Do you not have somewhere to be, Lockhart?" Snape snapped in turn, the knuckles on the hand gripping his walking stick ashen.

"Yes, but I'm rather enjoying basking in your ineptitude," Tom replied, using the same phrase that Snape had used against Lockhart according to his host's memory. "One of your students was branded right under your big ugly nose and you didn't even notice? And then she was kidnapped! And _I_ was the one who found her. Who's the incompetent fool now, Severus?"

Tom made sure to laugh loudly as he turned on his heel walked out of the Hospital Wing, hoping that Lockhart's laughter would ring in Snape's ears every he thought of Daisy lying in that Hospital bed, presumably kidnapped by the same people who had thought it a good idea to brand the word 'Mudblood' into her skin whilst he had done nothing to stop it.

Snape seemed to be the kind of man tormented by that sort of thing.

* * *

Manasa was dead.

The fact that he had set her up to die made the loss bearable, but it still stung a little.

Tom had known Manasa wouldn't listen to his orders and go back to sleep, and he'd counted on Silvanus Kettleburn being competent enough to identify the creature's _modus operandi_ to be that of a Basilisk. Tom had often suspected that in the Old World, a time when the creatures and their masters were no doubts not so rare as they were now, the common people offered their young up for sacrifice - Manasa often spoke of how her first Master had been a much better provider for her needs. Awake, the amplified rooster cry that had rung throughout the school would have killed her instantly. It allowed the remaining Staff and members of the Board of Governors to move around without fear of death or Petrification whilst they tried to figure out how to find the body.

It would have been far more logical for them to lure out Manasa with a child as bait and then kill her when she was somewhere easier to get to like a corridor or use the Potter boy to locate her, but Tom had also counted on wizard logic remaining as predictably illogical as it had during his own five years in the world. The last thing he needed was for them to get their greedy hands on Manasa's remains.

Governor Malfoy was particularly insistent that they find it. With Dumbledore absent from the school, the platinum blond aristocrat was swanning about the place as if he'd already been named Headmaster. The Deputy Headmistress might have found time to be offended if she wasn't currently extremely busy: the Ministry was trying to force its way into Hogwarts, letters piled up in her office every morning (sometimes setting on fire thanks to yet another Howler) and it was ridiculous how much paperwork something like a Basilisk loose in the school generated. Malfoy, who was doing nothing to expedite the Headmaster's return, was no doubt looking forward to claiming the money that a Basilisk would bring.

Tom applauded ambition but he held no respect at all for what he assumed was the grandson of Archibald Malfoy, the one who had cemented the drift in the Malfoy family with its continental cousins and the derive from the original Malfoy values of power to blood supremacy by changing the family motto to '_Purity Will Always Conquer_'. Tom had watched Abraxas strut about the halls of Hogwarts parroting his father's claims that Malfoy power came from their so-called pure blood. Abraxas had come to regret forcing Muggleborns to lick his shoes clean. But whatever lesson he had imparted on the Malfoy family as he became Lord Voldemort clearly had not stuck. Perhaps he hadn't.

From the way he felt around Malfoy and Snape, Tom had come to the conclusion that they were Knights, or as he had discovered that they were now called , Death Eaters. The only reason that he could see for changing his campaign to benefit Pureblood bigotry was financial. He didn't know what family Snape hailed from, but the Malfoy coffers would have been beneficial for a war. Or had they managed to somehow convince him that there was some other utility in not killing the whole lot of them? Either way, it did not explain why one clearly had some sort of attachment to a Muggleborn and why the other most likely had been in the possession of The Diary. Tom had met the little naïve Draco before. It was no doubt why a year or so later, he had to put up with the insufferable Ginevra '_But my friends call me Ginny – you are my friend, aren't you Tom_?' Weasley.

So even if Tom had had no need for the Basilisk money, he would have not allowed Lucius Malfoy to find Manasa on principle. Though it was thanks to Malfoy that he had found Daisy, things could have turned out very, _very_, differently.

And besides, he hadn't sacrificed Manasa for nothing. He had told Daisy not to compare herself to her, and it was true. Daisy meant nothing to him dead, but alive she could prove useful. Manasa alive made for a very stubborn pet, but dead she would soon provide him with a vault full of gold. Tom had decided that if the reason for turning to the Purebloods had been for money, he wasn't going to repeat that mistake again. He had the bloodline, he had the magic and soon he would have the money, and in the wizarding world, it was money which eventually talked the most. Was that not why all the Malfoys seemed to think the world resolved around their arrogant arses despite their dubious bloodline?

The sound of the Staffroom door opening pulled him from his musings. With fewer staff around, Tom found that he enjoyed the cosy silence of the Staffroom. Lockhart's quarters didn't feel quite the same without Daisy.

"No luck finding the dead beast then?"

One of Tom's favourite pastimes was getting a rise from Snape. He knew it was immature, but it _was_ fitting to Lockhart's character, and he reasoned that he'd already lived a life where he was serious and focused on his goals, and _that_ had only led to his death. Perhaps a little childish indulgence would be the key to his success.

"How hard can it be?" Tom continued, turning the Daily Prophet languidly in front of him. "It's dead. It's not moving. Wander the corridors a few times and you should stumble upon it. I mean, aren't Basilisks supposed to be absolutely humongous?"

"No Headmaster ever saw the need to draw up a map of Hogwarts pipe system," Snape replied tightly. He'd momentarily forgotten that Lockhart spent every waking moment he wasn't replying to fan mail or preening in front of a mirror, sitting in the same chair in the same corner of the staffroom reading The _Daily Prophet_, The _Evening Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly_. In an ideal world he would have ignored the blond, but Lockhart had revealed to be even more annoying in the face of silence than minimal answers, and Snape _really_ wasn't in the mood. "Without that, it's rather difficult to even figure out how water gets to the showers."

"Magic?"

"I'm surprised you haven't found it."

"I haven't been asked," Tom said airily, "and I work better alone."

"You honestly think you can find it?" Snape snorted, placing the documents in Kettleburn's pigeon hole. "The man who cannot even Apparate?"

"How's the Dursley girl doing?"

"Well."

"Funny that. I must have imagined the screaming earlier this morning."

The newspaper was ripped from his mid-page turn, and Tom found himself face-to-face with a livid Snape.

"This is _not_ a laughing matter," he hissed. Tom wrinkled his nose at the other man's coffee breath. "How long did you know where she was before you got her out of there, huh? You seem awfully pleased at her current condition, Lockhart. A little too much if you ask me"

"Well, I suppose I'd be lying if I said that deep down I didn't think she got what she deserved. She and I weren't exactly what you'd call friends you see," Tom shrugged, staring back at Snape unflinchingly. The Potions Master did this sometimes. Just how stupid did they think Lockhart was? Even _he_ would feel that sort of probing in his mind. "Severus, must we really have another talk about respecting personal space? Thank you. Now, about that snake problem that you and Governor Malfoy seem to have - I'll be more than willing to help. All I need is forty-eight hours."

"We'll have found it by then."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Really? Has it not been four days already?"

"Twenty-four hours."

"How about I give _you_ twenty-four hours, and if you haven't found it yet, you give me forty-eight?"

"Twenty-eight."

"I'm sorry, I was under the impression that you _wanted_ it found?"

"Thirty-six."

"Make it forty-eight, and you'll have yourself a deal."

Tom smiled as he Summoned the _Daily Prophet_ back to him. For such a reserved man, Snape had quite a temper on him. He never seemed to be able to leave a room without slamming a door.

* * *

Tom was glad he'd stuck to his original demand of two days. Gathering all the necessary parts and conserving them was proving a longer task than anticipated. Luckily he'd already had a head start. While they all thought he was sitting in his room, preening or whatever it is they thought Lockhart did in his spare time, he was down in the Chamber where he'd Levitated Manasa's remains when he'd first returned. He'd found her in the pipes near the dungeons.

Tom had already collected all the skin she'd shed around the Chamber, now packed and ready to be turned into high-priced, highly protective clothing. He'd cleared out Lockhart's bank account to get all the equipment he needed for this endeavour, but he wasn't worried - the vial of Basilisk blood he'd sent already had numerous bidders and by the end of the allotted forty-eight hours he'd have enough to disappear. Lockhart's contacts had not let him down.

He was going to be one very rich man.

Once his finances were relatively secure, then he'd begin figuring out how he was going to get his body back. During his breaks Tom would peruse Slytherin's Library in case he had missed something out the first time he scoured its shelves, but like it had held very little information about Horcruxes, it held even less about what to do if a material Horcrux became mortal. That raised another question: what was he going to do about his other self? Would he have to kill himself? _Could_ he kill himself? Tom had a hunch his older self would try and kill him, so he really had to find answers to his questions soon. Whilst he thought he'd found a way to immortality that didn't involve ripping his soul into further pieces, so far he only had a basic theory. If he was wrong, he would die, by his own hand no less. And he didn't want to die.

Tom sighed and forced himself to focus on the task at hand, or at least think of a less taxing topic.

He had a lot to catch up on. It was funny that technically he was now a sexagenarian and yet he still felt like sixteen going on seventeen. It did irritate him that he only had sixteen years worth of knowledge though. He would have to work on that, but acquiring knowledge was second nature to him. The world had also changed significantly since he was last in it. It was fascinating, just waiting for him to understand it in order to mould it into perfection. Not to mention the massive power vacuum just waiting to be stepped into. It called to him, and only practised patience and realisation that facing Potter as it was might have spelled his downfall stopped him from doing something rash.

He would also need Dumbledore out of the way. Perhaps that's where Daisy would come in.

Part of him wanted to take her with him. It was a shame he'd never hear the end of it; she'd go on and on and_ on_ about her stupid parents and her pathetic excuse for a brother. Tom could hardly believe they were twins. Maybe he could convince her that she was adopted… No, he would stick to his plan. And once he was ready to fulfil his promise to her, she would sit by his side as he ruled over the Continent and the British Isles. He had never contemplated having a human companion by his side, having more of an affinity with familiars, but in the spirit of doing things differently, he warmed more and more to the idea.

He wiped at his brow, grateful at least that Lockhart kept in fighting form.

He had been allowing himself to dream of late. Tom had always said that it was fools who dreamt, and that what he wished for were merely goals waiting to be achieved, but it was hard to continue that logic when reality told him otherwise. Dumbledore was very much alive, the Noble Purebloods still very much in power and he had been once again reduced to nothing by the wizarding world. So he called them what they were: dreams of war, destruction and flames amongst which he stood victorious, heralding the start of a new era. What he liked about Daisy was that she did not begrudge him of his dreams. She didn't always agree with them, but she listened to them, wasn't afraid to laugh at them, and after fifty years of self-imposed imprisonment in his own mind, she made him feel a certain normality that he had always scoffed at.

_Manasa never trusted me_, Tom thought as he dumped another roll of skin into the spelled container. He was almost done skinning her. Well, she _was_ dead. Perhaps the Basilisk had been smart after all.

* * *

"Dursley! Dursley, wake up!"

Daisy groaned. Today was going to be the stupid Mason Christmas Eve soirée and she had absolutely no desire to wake up. She'd fallen asleep trying to think of all the ways she could pretend to be sick, but the Masons probably had a private doctor who would attend to her or something equally irritating. She wondered if she'd had too much cake last night because her eyes felt heavier than usual, and sleep seemed harder to shake off. With an irritated groan, she batted Dudley away, before her brain connected what he was _actually_ was saying. Dudley never called her by their surname. And that wasn't Dudley's voice…

"Severus! This is highly inappropriate!"

That was most definitely Madam Pomfrey, and so the voice had to belong to – half closed eyes confirmed that it was very well Professor Snape shaking her. She'd never seen him like this, and she'd stirred varying degrees of anger in him. What had happened to awaken this quite frankly terrifying level of lividness?

"Professor?" she croaked, her throat feeling oddly raw, as if she'd screamed herself hoarse.

"Did he say anything to you before he left?" Snape demanded, his hold on her growing painful. She didn't have a clue what he was talking about.

"Who? Professor, why am I here?"

His eyes bore into hers with such an intensity Daisy could have sworn it was giving her a headache. "Dursley, what day is it?"

"Ermm…I guess sometime around the 24th?"

"Which month?"

"December, obviously."

Daisy flinched as Snape swore. She'd never seen Snape lose his temper this way. Sure there was that time last year when he'd spat on the ground at Gryffindor's record breaking win under his watch but this was another level. This was a 'hair grasping, pacing manically in front of the bed, swearing profusely and throwing the chair across the room' kind of mad.

"That bastard!" he raged. "He planned this entire thing!"

"Severus!" Madam Pomfrey cried. "How many times do I have to tell you? This is a place of rest! Kindly go have your temper tantrum elsewhere. You're scaring Miss Dursley."

Daisy shrank back into her pillow when he turned his gaze back to her, and didn't even notice her intuitive shift away from him as he stepped forward. Snape's face softened at this, and he seemed make a big deal out of showing her that his only intention was to grab his cane leaning against her bedside table. This made her even more suspicious, as he had no idea why he was doing it, and she'd quickly dismissed the possibility that the cane was there because he'd been sitting on the chair now on the other side of the room.

She watched his every movement from her side to the end of the bed, where she only just noticed Lucius Malfoy's quiet presence. He hadn't changed at all since the last time she had seen him at King's Cross Station: still the same trademark platinum blonde falling neatly onto his shoulders, still the same immaculate, expensive robes, his grey eyes as icy as ever. Snape stopped beside him, an unpleasant look on his thin face.

"This is your fucking mess, Lucius," Snape spat, jabbing the snakehead of the walking stick dangerously close to Malfoy patriarch's face, "You clear it up."

Daisy barely noticed the Matron casting an array of spells, and she accepted the vials which were pushed into her hand without protest. She was currently engaged in a staring match Malfoy Sr. trying to decipher what he could possibly have to do with her waking up in the Hospital Wing at a time that was apparently not Christmas Eve. He hadn't even flinched at Snape's outburst, nor did his mask of neutral detachment change, but she got the feeling that he was…trying to figure out what to do with her?

"What would you like for breakfast, dear?" Madam Pomfrey asked. "Perhaps you'd like something other than sugar topped with milk and cereal."

Daisy frowned. "How long have I been here? Do my parents know I'm here? What's going on? Why am I here?"

"Governor Malfoy, perhaps you'd care to explain? In the absence of her Head of House, and both the Assistant Headmistress _and_ the Headmaster, it feels as if it should fall onto you to bring poor Daisy here up to scratch."

For a fleeting moment, Daisy swore that a look of discomfort crossed his aristocratic features. After all, it was a look his son wore often. He cleared his throat.

"Of course," he nodded. "Miss Dursley, you don't have the faintest idea what is currently going on because you have been Obliviated by Gilderoy Lockhart. You were in the Hospital Wing because he kidnapped you and then proceeded to torture you mercilessly to make it appear as if you had been taken for other reasons. He is currently on the run with the remains of the Basilisk which during your so-called kidnapping killed one of your Yearmates. Hogwarts is closed until further notice."

"Someone _died_? Hogwarts closed?" If it wasn't for Pomfrey's solemn face she would have sworn he was joking. "How did Lockhart manage all of that? He _kidnapped_ me? But how? I'm not an idiot! And what's a _Basilisk_?"

Governor Malfoy sighed. He'd much preferred when she was heavily traumatised and only stared darkly at those who spoke to her, responding only when absolutely necessary.

"I don't have time for this. What I shall do is arrange for a Ministry car to return you to your family - Severus will have most likely calmed down enough to accompany you. In the mean time, enjoy your breakfast, and direct all your questions to Madam Pomfrey who is qualified to deal with memory loss in a sensitive and professional manner."

"Professor Snape said it was your fault."

"Professor Snape says a lot of things," Malfoy Sr. dismissed. "He's just upset that he was bested by the likes of Gilderoy Lockhart. Though I suppose that as a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, we failed you and every student at Hogwarts. We endeavour to change that. Now if you'll excuse me."

Daisy turned to the only remaining adult. "Madam Pomfrey?"

"Let me get us some breakfast," the Matron sighed. "It's a long story."

* * *

_**ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER FAILURE: HOGWARTS TEACHER'S ELABORATE RUSE FOOLS WIZENGAMOT CHIEF **_

_Not long ago the wizarding world was mourning the death of young Sally Anne Perks, an inevitable end to Dumbledore's silence amongst attacks against students that rung as ghastly premonitions of what was to come. Today, the Daily Prophet learns that Gilderoy Lockhart, former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, and now blacklisted former Honorary member of the Defence League, has disappeared into the wild – with an estimated two million Galleons worth of Basilisk parts with him. The alarm was rung when his quarters were found to be empty and the missing student, Daisy Dursley, cousin to Harry Potter, Obliviated in her hospital bed where she lay recovering from horrific injuries which are now believed to have been inflicted by Lockhart himself. _

_Confused? That is the intent of a man who was once dubbed the 'Memory Modification Mage'. Sources believe that this is a plan that has been in the works since Lockhart was a school boy and learned of what lay beneath the illustrious Chambers of Secrets. Knowing the value of the Basilisk, a highly dangerous and rare breed of snake, which lay within, he sought a way in which to kill it and reap the reward. It is now believed that he may have been a secret Parseltongue, keeping this ability to speak with snakes secret so to cultivate the mask of the charming, happy and kind man that we all came to know. Nothing would have suggested that he was so far from the Light, or that he would wait as long as it took to put his nefarious plan into motion. His invitation to Hogwarts to act as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher presented the perfect opportunity to set his plan into motion._

_During the school year, Lockhart made it seem as though the attacks made on Muggleborns was the work of 'The Heir of Slytherin' who legend has it would come to cleanse Hogwarts of the unworthy. Salazar Slytherin's bigotry against those who were not born of magical blood allowed this to appear plausible, and panic spread through the school, namely amongst the Muggleborn pupils. Students must have been ordered to keep quiet or had their letters modified for no parent heard anything about this until they were being informed of Perks' tragic death and the ensuing temporary closure of Hogwarts. The exception to this, of course, was Daisy Dursley, who was chosen as the smoke charm behind which Lockhart was able to hide his true intentions._

_It is thought that Lockhart sent a false letter to Dursley's Muggle parents, informing them that their child was in danger. Reacting to this threat, they temporarily removed their child from Hogwarts. However this would not do for Lockhart's plans. Intercepting a Gringotts bank statement destined to the Dursleys as it lay in a Muggle postal sorting office (which Lockhart would know about as his grandparents were Muggles), he placed compulsion charms upon it which forced Dursley's parents to withdraw her from the wizarding world. Now wandless and unable to protect her family in case of fatal attack (an exception permitted by the Statute of Secrecy), it is thought that Dursley was lured away from her family home with a death threat hanging over her family's life. _

_It is unclear where Lockhart kept Dursley as he fooled his colleagues and the great Albus Dumbledore himself, offering to search for her upon news of her disappearance and the suspicious nature of her withdrawal from the wizarding world. When he returned, Lockhart made it seem as though he had rescued her from a dungeon on the Continent, but it is now believed that he tortured Dursley herself in order to keep his story in line. As the Board of Governors and Hogwarts Professors worked tirelessly to find the Basilisk remains – the Headmaster and the Gamekeeper absent due to their ongoing investigative trials before the Wizengamot – Lockhart took this opportunity to flee, removing from Dursley's mind any memory that might lead to his whereabouts. _

_The Ministry of Magic and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement ask all who catch sight of Lockhart to notify the Department immediately and to not approach him. His looks are dangerously deceptive, and investigations are being made into previous accusations against Lockhart to unravel the man once dubbed deserving of an Order of Merlin, Third Class, withdrawn by Minister Cornelius Fudge this morning. Madam Amelia Bones, Head of Magical Law Enforcement released this statement: '_We would like to assure the public that we are doing everything in our power to apprehend the criminal Gilderoy Lockhart. As we speak Aurors are working tirelessly with the Investigation Department whilst Hit Wizards liaise with Witch Watchers both here and on the Continent to assure that justice is served. We ask for the public's cooperation in this. He may appear harmless, but he is a master of lies, and will say anything for safe refuge. Do not be pulled into the game which we have all been a victim of. Gilderoy Lockhart is a dangerous criminal who must be brought to trial._' _

_Questions are being asked as to whether Lockhart's actions clear Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts Gamekeeper, formerly under suspicion of being the so-called 'Heir of Slytherin'. His expulsion followed accusations that he was the master of the creature that killed Myrtle Jones, a Muggleborn attending Hogwarts during the first of similar attacks. He continues to violently protest his innocence. Answers are being demanded from Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, currently under suspension as he undergoes an internal investigation before the Wizengamot and the Board of Governors, as to the role which his silence played in the death of Sally-Anne Perks and the kidnapping of Daisy Dursley. It has not escaped notice that Dumbledore was a Hogwarts Professor at the time of the first attacks and that both deaths involved Muggleborn witches. _

_Here at the Prophet our hearts go out to the victims of incompetence, and join the call of many in asking for a reform in what was once a world-renown magical institution. _

(Turn to page 11 for an in-depth Interview with Lucius Malfoy, member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors and shocked parent on the impact of the closure on the students, the parents and the reputation of Britain itself and what he feels needs to be done)

* * *

_**A/N**__: A very Tom-centric chapter but I couldn't help myself! I have been loving the response I've been getting (thank you!) and I'm really having fun writing him (as you've probably noticed, ha). But we won't see him again for awhile, and gotta lay down plot foundations somewhere, ya feel? _

_I'm going with the theory that Tom's mind can't age and develop in a vacuum, he can only ponder over things he already knew and there's not much external stimulus until little Draco stumbles upon him. So he's basically sixteen/seventeen, hence why he's perhaps a little less…insane? We should also bear in mind the significance of Tom being an object Horcrux with a human host (and later a human body if he figures it out), rather than an originally human Horcrux. Makes him a bit different from Harry donchathink? Oh, oh and isn't it interesting that Lockhart is a half-blood? _

_Also, I feel that Snape knew about The Diary all along but he naïvely trusted that a) his best friend knew what he was doing, b) Dumbledore knew what he was doing and c) even if someone died (how very unfortunate) there was no way that a teenage Dark Lord would escape into the wild because nobody wants that, like ever. He should have known Lockhart had become way too sassy! _

_On another note, I'm not always a hundred percent happy with my chapters, but I'm currently going with getting them as close to how I want them as possible and just posting them so that I can update faster than once every three months or something. Figured you guys prefer slightly faster updates. Do let me know if you feel there's a (major) drop in quality or it feels (too) rushed though. Keep letting me know what you think of the story in general! I always love hearing your thoughts. Silence will continue to be taken as presumption of your consent for me to like totally do a Tom/Daisy pairing. Ha. I'm just teasing. Or am I…? *cackles*_


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**PREVIOUSLY ON TOD**: Daisy in all her brilliant wisdom decided to trust Tom Riddle, who then left the confines of the Diary as a result of unforeseen circumstances and currently inhabits the body of one Gilderoy Lockhart. Tom tricked Manasa (the Basilisk) into killing a student (the unfortunate victim was Sally-Anne Perks, wrong place, wrong time), who was subsequently killed by rooster cry (the Basilisk, not Perks – she was eaten). Tom then harvested the Basilisk to make himself a very rich man, but before he left, he totally went back on his word and Obliviated Daisy who now remembers nothing. The wizarding world is in uproar: everyone (apart from maybe Severus and Lucius, suspicious as always) thinks that Lockhart is a criminal mastermind who kidnapped, tortured and Obliviated Daisy to cover up a super elaborate plot involving the Chamber of Secrets and is now on the loose. Dumbledore (who probably knows it's Tom but not how, and besides he has bigger problems at the mo' like not getting fired) and Hagrid are still suspended pending completion of a Ministry investigation and Hogwarts remains closed. Daisy has been discharged from the Hospital Wing and Snape is taking her back home.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Why didn't you come to me?"

Daisy jumped. So lost in thought, she'd almost forgotten that Snape was sat beside her as they made the journey southward to Surrey. They hadn't exchanged a word since they'd gotten in the sleek black town car, and she was quite all right with that. He seemed to be in an odd mood and being in the Ministry car made her feel much more uneasy than expected. She'd spent the past half an hour or so trying to figure out why. After all, it wasn't her first time in a car. Heck, it wasn't the first time she was in a car with Snape – so what was it? Was it the way the car slipped between cars to avoid the afternoon traffic jams or the way it jumped traffic lights and junctions, the driver seemingly unfazed by the near misses, that made her feel odd?

"With what, sir?" Daisy asked slowly, not entirely sure what he was referring to. Was there something that she had done that she couldn't remember?

"I am your Head of House. You should have come to me. You should have told me what they did to you. I would have handled the matter with discretion. At the very least, I could have perhaps reversed its permanence or countered it. I could have offered you counsel. I could have done _something_."

"Oh." Daisy suddenly felt very uncomfortable, the car seeming entirely too small despite its roomy interior. She had never really considered that she might eventually have this conversation with Snape. She certainly hadn't expected him to seem so angry about it. "I'm sorry…?"

"Why didn't you come to me?" he repeated.

"I…" Daisy trailed off, suddenly finding her hands very interesting as she tried to remember what the reason had been at the time. "It didn't occur to me to do so. It…it happened at the end of term. I was going home the next day. I wasn't thinking. I didn't want to think about it. I don't really want to think about it now, actually." She absentmindedly scratched the scars on her hands, absently noting the new additions, in particular the raised white line that ran across the middle of her palm. "I was sure you'd say something, or _do_ something, and that it'd make it a hundred times worse. So I dealt with it. I was dealing with it. It's fine."

"It isn't _fine_! You have that - that _word_ branded into you-"

"Don't you think I know that?" Daisy snapped back, cutting off whatever tirade her Head of House was about to launch into. This was why she hadn't told him anything! She must have known in the back of her mind that he would react unpredictably, and the last thing she had wanted or needed was to be told that everything was a consequence of her own stupid actions. "Why are you yelling at _me_? Are you angry at me? Are you saying it's my fault? Because I can assure you that I didn't do _anything_ to deserve it!"

"I am angry at myself," Snape snarled, surprising Daisy with this admission and deflating the anger that had begun to bubble up inside of her. Snape was being surprisingly emotional today. Daisy had often assumed, along with the rest of the student body, that he had two emotional states: blank and various stages of anger. Sneers and smirks were not emotions. And yet she was once again witness to the dark plethora of emotions that crossed his sharp features, the knuckles on the hand on his walking stick colourless, as he stared out of the window. "I should have never allowed that to happen to you. I should have never allowed _any_ of this to happen to you. You were under my responsibility and I…" He turned back to her, the remaining emotion confined in his dark eyes as he held her own pale blue gaze. "I have failed you and for that I apologise, Miss Dursley."

"Apology accepted, sir." She even managed a small smile which she hoped was reassuring. Daisy didn't blame him. She knew she wasn't the only student in the school who was bullied, and as a former bully herself she appreciated the lack of teacher intervention much more than the alternative. She cringed inwardly at the thought of Snape openly defending. Allowing her access to Classroom Three had been a godsend. "Honestly, I thought you knew. You were always warning me – or sticking me in detention – and I don't know. I guess I assumed you knew and just didn't feel like doing anything about it. Character-building and all that."

Daisy had expected him to sneer in acknowledgement and lament that nothing could improve a Gryffindor temperament. She had not expected him to look as if she had just slapped him. "Is that what you think of me?"

"Well, no – that's not what I meant," Daisy said quickly, wishing that he would just go back to the blank stares because all of this was confusing. "I just – well, I guess it kind of is what I meant. I know that I could have come to you. I _know_ that. I know you could have probably done something, but like I said it would have made things so much worse _and_ you would have probably stuck me in detention until I Graduated for "my safety" or had me re-Sorted or something equally as dramatic and humiliating. No one outside of the House knew. Except the Weasley Twins somehow, but they seem to know everything except the Slytherin password – oh, and Professor Dumbledore knew, so I thought he'd told you."

"What do you mean the Headmaster _knew_?"

Daisy regretted wishing that Snape would return to a mood that she knew, as his voice dropped to a deadly whisper that sent shivers up her spine and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. She had to hand it to him – he was displaying a range of emotions Daisy had only previously associated with the colours on her father's face, who could go from puce to sickly green within the bristle of a moustache.

"Well, he – never mind, sir. It's nothing."

Daisy couldn't exactly tell Snape about Neville being rescued by Dumbledore from Higgs and his gang. Given the Headmaster's lack of intervention in anything, Daisy had always assumed that he'd stepped in at that particular moment because he'd somehow found out and it was his indirect way of saying 'I won't tolerate any bullying of my Gryffindors, so it's a good thing that I can also punish the ones who bullied you as well'. After all, if the Weasley twins knew (however vaguely), surely the all powerful semi-omniscient Headmaster had heard something as well. And Donahue had grumbled of nothing else since the beginning of term, placing the loss of his Head Boy position firmly on Higgs' – and Daisy's – shoulders, _never_ Neville's. Telling Snape all this would not only be doing the very thing she had avoided doing, but the thought of doing so seemed to be filling her with quickly growing panic. He couldn't know. She couldn't tell him.

"Tell me, Miss Dursley." She shook her head, trying to wrap her head around the dread currently filling her. She'd never been so worried about the consequences should a teacher find out. Why was she finding it so hard to breathe? What was it about being in this stupid car that was making her so uneasy? "Miss Dursley."

"Please," she asked, her voice a shaky whisper, "Please can we drop the subject?"

Snape almost snarled that no, they could not, not if that old fool had known all along and had decided to keep it to himself, but reluctantly accepted that he could not. Daisy had tensed up, fingers curled tightly into fists, her breathing fast, and the emotions rolling off of her confused and erratic. Something he'd said had triggered her subconscious, and pushing it for his own selfish desire to have his questions answered would be contrary to the apology he had just delivered. He'd find out if Dumbledore had known another way. His eyes flashed with a promise against the old man. There was more than one way to pay off a Life Debt, and ever since the events of last year, Snape had been contemplating his alternatives with increasing sincerity instead of as a passing thought in irritation.

"I assume your parents do not know," he said after awhile. Daisy's breathing had calmed, though her hands remained curled up into tights fists, and his own thoughts had been neatly placed where they belonged – out of sight and out of his way.

"They don't," she said simply.

"Do you intend on telling them?"

She sighed. "I don't have a choice, do I? It's hardly…inconspicuous. And if this is it…if I'm not coming back to Hogwarts, I'll have to tell them. And I will. Just not now. Not today."

"In this particular matter, I will trust that your judgement is much better placed than my own. They are your parents after all," Snape acquiesced, noting the slight relief to Daisy's shoulders at this reassurance. "It is a shame how things turned Miss Dursley. Despite what you might otherwise think, I have always thought you to have the potential to go far. If only you would just _listen_ to me."

Daisy smiled sadly. "I'm sorry too, you know. For what happened last year. It's…it's my fault you got attacked by Quirell. I'd known for ages he was odd, and I left you with him and then I didn't even come to check until it was too late. I was just so happy that they were talking to me – that _Malfoy_ was playing chess with me." She gave a mirthless chuckle and shook her head at how she'd been so happy just to be accepted for all of five minutes. "If I'd come sooner, you'd have been okay."

Snape blinked. "That wasn't your fault."

"Maybe, but it feels like it, you know? Just like you couldn't have done anything for me, I couldn't have done anything for you, but it doesn't stop me from thinking I could have. That I should have. I know you weren't a Quidditch player or something so it's not _that_ big a deal, and you're still an awesome Potions Master, but if it wasn't for me…" She looked up at him with a sincerity that he had rarely seen on her face and that struck him dumb. "I'm sorry, okay?"

He nodded, giving her what she seemed to need to hear. "Apology accepted, Miss Dursley."

With a final smile (upturned corners of the lips from Snape's end), they lapsed into silence once more, each lost in their thoughts. He couldn't have said anything if he wanted to, blind-sided by the idea that a student might genuinely care for him. She had been feeling guilty _all this time_? Snape was quite glad that _he_ had long learned to stifle guilt the moment it reared its ugly, suffocating head, or he wasn't sure what he would have done. Beg for further forgiveness? No, what was done, was done. And besides, it no longer mattered.

Daisy was leaving the wizarding world. Snape had dealt with the necessary paperwork himself, not trusting anyone – especially not Lucius – to not assort her withdrawal from the wizarding world with all sorts of conditions. So what he had or had not done no longer mattered. She forgave him for failing her and that could encompass many things. The gentle, reassuring squeeze of her shoulder as they stood outside of 4 Privet Drive was his way of saying goodbye before the door was thrown open and Daisy was pulled into the house.

* * *

Daisy didn't know what to do. Her mother was crying. She'd never seen her mother cry before, not like this, and not in front of a stranger. She couldn't have turned to look to anyone for help because her head was buried in her mother's chest where she had been pulled into a hug what felt like five minutes ago, and had yet to be let go. Daisy was at a loss.

"Mum," she tried, her voice muffled against her mother's blouse. "Are you okay?"

"Never better, darling," Petunia replied, kissing the top of Daisy's head. Once, twice, and then several more times. "Never better."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I almost lost you."

"Okay."

And so Daisy just let her mother hug her for however long they stood in the corridor, occasionally patting her mother's arm or murmuring that she was fine. Daisy heard her father exchanging a couple of words with Snape, and then her teacher was gone, and the front door closed once more with a grunted 'Good riddance'.

"Pet, you'll suffocate her," Vernon said, wrapping an arm around Petunia and slowly beginning to extricate his daughter from his wife's hold. "She's here – she's really here. Look, it's her – in the flesh. She's safe. It's okay. Let the rest of us say hello as well."

If she'd thought her mother's reaction was a little much, the last thing she expected was to have the wind knocked out of her as her brother wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his own hug, this one bordering on actual bone-crunching. It took her by surprise. Dudley was never one to voluntarily hug her, and certainly not of his own initiative. Thankfully, he didn't cry and it was a lot shorter than their mother's hug had been.

"You're all right," Dudley said, as he held her at arm's length, blue eyes narrowed as he checked for signs of damage. "You're okay."

"Yes, I am," she said simply. She really didn't know what else to say.

"Of course she's okay," Vernon said, beaming down at her. "She's a Dursley, isn't she? What do you say we all get out of the corridor and go and get started on dinner? Your mother's made all your favourites, and I for one, am starving."

"It's pretty much the only thing that's in the house - your favourites," Dudley informed her, but without the usual hint of bitterness that had usually accompanied such a declaration, as he led Daisy into the dining room. "And I've left you all the flavours in the Neapolitan, the last chocolate Cornetto, me and Dad got you this massive jar of sweets from this market up in London and I swear I only ate a few, and Mum made banana bread a couple of days ago and it's still just as awesome, and there's lasagne in the freezer, that beef stew you like for some reason in the fridge and we've even got oven chips if you fancy them. But Mum's made Sunday roast with all the trimmings and gravy and a massive chocolate cake for dinner."

"Sunday roast?" Daisy said incredulously. "It's Wednesday."

"And? _You're_ home."

Daisy was more than a little overwhelmed. Dudley had _never_ been so happy to see her, which felt really odd because in her mind she'd seen him just yesterday. Except that she hadn't. He had changed – taller and slightly slimmer perhaps - and the dining room certainly wasn't how she had last seen it. In her absence progress had been made on the renovation project to match the interior of the house to the current Dursley standing, which apparently involved a lot of white.

"Boy, get the table ready," Vernon said as they sat down, Petunia dabbing at her eyes with Vernon's handkerchief, unable to take her eyes off of Daisy. This brought Daisy's attention back to Harry, who had been hovering just out of the way, quiet as he always was in the house. He was giving her the same look as her mother and Dudley – in fact, he was grinning at her. He was happy to see her…?

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry said before Daisy could say anything, ducking into the kitchen.

So Daisy turned to her mother instead. "Mum, _please_ stop crying."

"These are happy tears, Daisy-bear," Petunia replied, still fighting with her tears to no avail. "I'm just so happy. And relieved. I thought – well, I thought the only things a mother could think in that kind of situation. But you're here, safe and whole. My two babies where they should be."

"She was like this when we brought you two home, you know," Vernon said, giving Petunia's hand a squeeze. "It was – what, six weeks before the due date? - when you two decided you were about ready to come out. You put your mother through a lot of grief even then. They had to keep you both in the hospital. Dudley mainly for observation, but you Daisy – you were this tiny little thing. You'd take these big breaths that looked like it took all your strength, but you never stopped. Always a little fighter you were. They put Dudley next to you so you wouldn't be alone. Apparently that really helps with twins. She needed her big brother to look out for her. You were in the hospital just over a fortnight. I had to work double shifts so I couldn't be there, but your mother watched over you two, day and night. The nurses were always complaining that she refused to get the sleep she needed. She was so strong. Never broke down or shed a tear – she was just determined to get you both home. And then when we finally did, and got you all tucked into your little beds, she just started crying. Wouldn't stop. I thought it was that post-natal rubbish they're always bleating on about. But no – that's just how much you two mean to her."

"Your father wouldn't pick you up for another week after we got you home, Daisy," Petunia added, the memory bringing a smile to her face, and slowing the ebb of tears. She grasped her husband's hand with both of hers, and in that moment all the tensions of the past months seemed to melt away, because no matter how increasingly little they saw eye to eye, nothing would change that they were the twins' parents. "You were still so tiny, and he was terrified he'd break you. Mind you, it didn't take long until he was throwing you in the air like Dudley, giving me all sorts of heart attacks. He dropped you on your head when you were two. We had to rush you to the hospital."

Vernon gave a laugh that earned him a playful slap on the arm. "Your mother didn't speak to me for a week."

"He treated you like a china doll after that, no matter how many times you shouted 'Daddy – fly!' as if you'd forgotten just how much your tumble hurt. He more than made up for it."

"Well, she's my little princess, isn't she?"

"Why do you never tell us stuff like that?" Dudley demanded, frowning at this new information, angry that he had been cheated of the knowledge that he'd _always_ been Daisy's older brother and that this confusing instinct to protect her wasn't something new, or odd – that there was nothing _wrong_ with him.

"You've never seemed interested in it before," Petunia explained, wiping away the last of her tears. "I guess you two really are growing up."

"Mum, please don't cry again," Daisy said warily. "Quick, Dudley, let's do something to make her unhappy."

"Dad bought a white rug for the living room," Dudley suggested. "We could put our wellies on, go stomp around in the garden and wipe our feet on that. Especially since it's just a bunch of mud where they've started digging to lay the foundation for the conservatory."

"Don't you dare!" Petunia snapped, as Daisy asked, "We're getting a conservatory?"

"First on Privet Drive," Vernon beamed, chest puffing out proudly. "I'll show you the mock up after dinner. Boy! Hurry up!"

Dinner was a jovial affair. Now that Dudley and Daisy were receptive to these stories, Petunia and Vernon seemed more than happy to regale them in childhood anecdotes that they'd been too young to remember or had simply forgotten about over time. She and Dudley had been a lot closer when they were younger than Daisy would have thought. As far as she could remember they'd been together yet separate, Dudley happier to call herself an older brother than a twin (especially when people stopped believing them without asking for proof or eyebrows shooting up surprise), and Daisy readily obliging. She hadn't known about them sleeping in the same cot because they refused to be apart, or wearing the same clothes for a short period when they were four – Daisy had always assumed that pictures in the photo albums when they were together was just a case of them being posed for the picture.

Harry was quiet throughout all of dinner. Daisy occasionally watched him, smiling when she caught his eye, but he would quickly duck his head back to his dinner, and she would be drawn back to the conversation as Vernon boomed with laughter remembering when Dudley had beaten up little Craig from down the street for laughing at the dress Dudley had taken to wearing for that week, or Dudley's demand that Daisy now had to take back all the times she'd said _that_ he'd been dropped on his head as a child when he now had hard evidence to the contrary. Daisy had missed this; her family together and happy.

If she thought the house had continued to change in her absence as the consequence of continued renovations to match the interior to their current social standing, she hadn't expected that this change would extend to her bedroom, which had undergone a complete overhaul. The bunk bed had been swapped out for a four poster that took up most of the room with beautiful pink drapes framing white sheets, and a comforter with her name elaborately hand-stitched around an elegant smattering of daisies; in the corner sat a gleaming television, the protective film still on the screen; and the walls, now a light peach as opposed to their previous pink, were home to shelves neatly stacked with books that she thought her father had long thrown away and decorated with the trinkets she hadn't seen the last transformation of her room.

"Do you like it?" Dudley had asked, resting a podgy hand proudly on the oak bed frame. "Me and Dad worked on it together. He let me use the drill and everything, and Mum let us do the painting ourselves. I just – I _knew_ you'd come home if we did it up nicely. I knew it."

"It's lovely," Daisy smiled, as she walked around the room, admiring the little touches no doubt left by her mother, like the vase of daisies next to the television or the numerous pillows decorating her bed. The new carpet felt like heaven under her feet. She stopped at the window, looking out at the orange-lit back street. "What's with the wiring? What is it keeping out? Did we get robbed?"

Dudley frowned at this question. "Don't you remember? You jumped out of the window."

"I did?" She mirrored her brother's expression. "Why didn't I just use the door?"

"Mum, you said she didn't remember _some_ things," Dudley exclaimed, turning to their mother with an accusatory glare, "You didn't say she'd forgotten everything!"

"I haven't forgotten _everything_," Daisy said, still looking out of the window, as if she merely had amnesia and wasn't under the effects of a Memory Charm, and if she stared hard enough it might prompt her to remember. "Just everything since the morning of Christmas Eve. The Prophet said that I-"

"We can talk about it tomorrow," Petunia interrupted, reaching over Daisy to draw the curtains, and steering her daughter to the bed. "Why don't you get some rest, darling? Try out your new bed. You must be tired after your journey. You too, Dudley, it's been a long couple of weeks, and an eventful day. Get some decent sleep."

Dudley looked like he wanted to do no such things, but he conceded that now was not the moment, and Daisy followed suit, exchanging looks that made it clear that this conversation was far from over as they hugged goodnight.

"Are these from the Masons?" Daisy asked as she reached in the drawer for the blue pyjamas next to the pink dotted pair her mother pulled out for her, noticing the embroidery she had seen all summer. "When did I get these?"

"They were a Christmas present from Cheryl," Petunia said, though her mouth thinned suspiciously, and she subsequently launched herself into retting about straightening things up that were already in their place and fluffing up pillows that Daisy wasn't even going to sleep with. As she slipped into her pyjamas, keeping her back away from her mother with practised ease, Daisy wondered what the hell her mother was hiding. How much had happened that couldn't she remember?

"Where's Harry sleeping?" Daisy asked as she slipped under the covers, taking a moment to revel at the comfort money could buy. She felt like she'd sunk into a cloud.

"Downstairs."

"But you hate anyone sleeping on the sofa." Daisy caught something in Petunia's eye as she bounced a little on the bed, getting the feel for the mattress and then froze with realisation. "He's not on the sofa, is he, Mum? He's in the cupboard! You put him in the _cupboard_? Why? Why is he back there?"

"It's just until the renovations on the spare room are finished," Petunia tried to soothe, taking a seat next to her daughter, reaching out to smooth back her hair. "It's not like he can stay in here is it? He'll be up there in no time, darling, so don't you fret. He has everything he needs. Now – do you need anything? How about-"

"You're lying," Daisy said coldly, moving away from her mother's touch. Just because she wasn't going to be a witch anymore, how could they just decide to go back on everything that had changed? They had only _just_ started making it up to him! "He's there because you _want_ him there. How could you? Does he even fit in there anymore? Why? Why would you do this to him? He's family! He-"

"HE CAME BACK AND YOU DIDN'T!" Daisy shrunk back at her mother's reply. Petunia instantly regretted it, and immediately reached over to offer any semblance of comfort to Daisy, who thankfully did not flinch. "I'm sorry, darling – I shouldn't have shouted at you. I know it's not always easy to understand but I want you to try. Can you do that for me, Daisy-bear? Can you try and understand that when he came back and you didn't, that your father and I… You are my baby, my little darling girl - my _everything_ - and I almost lost you to that world, and Harry was that constant reminder of all the things that have hurt me. Beyond the people in this house, I have no other family because of that world, and I couldn't bear – and your father couldn't – and Dudley, he –" Petunia broke off, unable to articulate the pain she had felt, the distress, the anger and the unfairness of it all. All her emotions around the matter seemed to boil down to: how dare _Lily's_ _son_ come back to her and not her baby? "Darling, you have to understand. Please."

Daisy wanted to rant. She didn't understand. She couldn't. She didn't understand anything that had happened since she walked through the doors, only just wrapping her head around their reactions to her return by trying to imagine how she would feel if Dudley disappeared for a month and she had no idea where he was. Yet even that didn't justify putting Harry in a cupboard. But Daisy nodded instead, letting her mother pull her close once more.

* * *

Daisy had never imagined that she would be leaving Hogwarts.

Actually, that was a lie. She had known very early on that her mother wouldn't hesitate to remove her from the school if she ever found out the extent of the bullying she'd suffered at the hands of the Slytherin Purebloods. She had known that this would be something that would _definitely_ happen if her parents got wind of the Chamber of Secrets being opened. She just hadn't counted on it _actually_ happening. Technically, she hadn't been a student since sometime in January, but she didn't remember being withdrawn the first time around, so it was only just beginning to sink in. And this time, there was no doubt as to whether her parents had been compelled or not. Professor Snape had apparently checked for compulsion charms when he accepted their withdrawal.

And now she was curled up on the sofa with her mother looking at brochures for private schools, occasionally murmuring her agreement that, yes it would be nice to get back into dancing and no, she didn't mind if she didn't have her own horse. Before her Hogwarts letter, Daisy would have been ecstatic that the number of private schools she could attend were now infinite, no longer determined by how many extra hours her father could take on or which school could offer her a scholarship, but the prospect of attending a top-tier private school with a pretty much guaranteed place at the university of her choice had somehow lost its shine. She was going back to being Daisy Dursley, daughter of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, sister to Dudley Dursley. Granted, it sounded a lot better than 'Harry Potter's cousin, the Slytherin Mudblood', but for some reason it didn't feel quite as special. She hated herself for thinking it, but the former was just so… _Muggle_.

"Daisy-bear, are you alright?" Petunia asked, giving her daughter a concerned look when Daisy didn't respond.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Mum," Daisy reassured, snuggling in closer to her mother, accepting the kiss pressed to the top of her head. "There's just so many to choose from – it's a bit overwhelming. I think Cobham Hall is my favourite so far. I'm not going to Mrs Mason's alma mater. I'm _not_ swapping robes for gingham."

"We should still visit both of them, just to get a feel – _and_ to be polite. What do you think? We also have to think about the possibility of you eventually going Full Board or if you want to come home at the weekends like Dudley or if you'd prefer to be a Day student."

"Whatever you want, Mum."

"Then how about Farlington?" Petunia said, holding up the brochure with the customary happy-looking girls sitting outside on the green in front of the historic red brick buildings. "You could come home every day in that case. There's a school bus or I could drop you off and pick you up every day."

"I suppose I can live with tartan," Daisy smiled, picking up the brochure and leafing through it, every now and then making sounds of appreciation and reading out an interesting quote to give the impression that she was just as excited to be attending a "normal" school.

Honestly, she didn't care. Daisy would have happily gone to Stonewall High, or would accept whatever hideous uniform came with whatever school that would make her mother happy. Anything that would eventually stop her mother's need to check where she was every hour on the hour, or the tiptoeing around her to make sure that nobody mentioned anything that Daisy couldn't remember, Hogwarts or anything to do with magic _just in case_ it triggered something. It was irritating, and bordering on neurotic, but she now understood. Daisy understood that she couldn't understand what it was like to have someone she cared about go missing for almost a month, turn up traumatised and tortured and only have them be returned once their memory was wiped. So she went along with everything with minimal fuss and a reassuring smile. Apart from being confused, she was fine. Apparently she should be grateful that she couldn't remember anything anyway.

Governor Malfoy, the Psyche Healer and Madam Pomfrey had decided that it was best if her memory stayed gone. Daisy had vehemently protested at first, arguing that the state she had arrived in couldn't have been _that_ bad until Professor Snape had snarled at her, that yes, it _had_ been that bad, and that this instance was the only one in which Lockhart's use of the Memory Charm was actually kind, even if it remained entirely selfish. She would have remained unconvinced if she hadn't caught the dark look that had crossed his features before he got a hold of himself. The amount of emotion he'd displayed that day had been odd and continually unsettling. So Daisy, reluctantly, let it drop, contenting herself with what little Madam Pomfrey and the Daily Prophet could tell her. However, she remained suspicious of this decision, especially in light of conversations with her brother. Against their mother's wishes, he'd slowly brought her up to speed on things that had happened before her disappearance – as much as he could tell her at least.

Now there were so many unanswered questions buzzing around in her mind, distracting her when she tried to do normal things like watch television or read or watch Dudley slay a bunch of zombies on his latest game. _Why_ had she jumped out of the window? Well – she now knew that her parents had locked her in the house – but then why had she been so desperate to get back to Hogwarts? True, being withdrawn from Hogwarts would have put any plans on finding the Chamber of Secrets permanently on hold, but it hadn't been that important to her – or had it? The theory that Lockhart had lured her out with her family under threat didn't sit well with her either. At the time she was certain Lockhart was an idiot. What could he have possibly threatened that had lured her out? Had he revealed himself as the Heir of Slytherin? No, it couldn't be. Gilderoy Lockhart could _not_ be the Heir of Slytherin. She refused to believe. What if she'd jumped out of the window to defy her father? From what Dudley told her, Daisy had pulled out every trick that she could in order to get her parents to change their mind. Dudley was even convinced that she'd made a branch fall on Dad's brand new company car. What if Lockhart had gotten to her when she _got_ to Hogwarts – however she managed that? But then, what had been so urgent that she needed to get to Hogwarts?

"Mum, I think I've got a headache coming on," Daisy said, feeling the familiar pulsing ache whenever she tried too hard to remember. She'd tried to push past it, to reach past this imaginary barrier and just _remember_ to no avail. All she got for her efforts was a throbbing headache and no answers to her endless questions. "I'm going to have a lie down."

Pausing at Harry's door, she kept going when she heard her mother calling that she would bring her up an aspirin in a moment. Petunia didn't approve of Daisy talking to Harry, but Daisy had finally been able to talk to him when he was settled in the spare room, stealing a few minutes every now and then away from her mother's prying eyes. Her parents were adamant that there be no talk of Hogwarts and the wizarding world _at all_, but Daisy thought this was ridiculous; she'd already accepted she wasn't going back. Dudley had explained that their parents were just finding it hard to believe that she was truly accepting of the circumstances given her reaction the first time round, and would most likely remain anxious until she was back in a normal school and too late for her temper tantrums about belonging in the wizarding world to have any effect. Even so, Daisy still hadn't quite figured out how treating Harry poorly had anything to do with anything.

"I'm sorry about them," Daisy said, later that evening, when she found a moment in between dinner and bedtime to sneak into his bedroom, Dudley on his computer games and her parents having a heated after discussion over ice cream and coffee. He was sitting at the small desk tucked under the window, and she enveloped him in a hug, glad she was the one surprising someone else with affection and not the other way around. "I was thinking that I could have a word with Mum about the chores - if you want. I could help out – I mean, you're going to be going back to you-know-where any time soon, so I'll have to pick up the slack, and if Dad's shirts are anything to go by, I haven't the foggiest how anything in this house works. I honestly thought it was only red things that ran in the wash. I'll get him to stop calling you 'boy' as well. You have a _name_, for goodness sake. You must be glad to be back upstairs though. How do you like the bed? I convinced Dudley to convince Dad to get a decent mattress in case we actually have guests over. And-"

"Daisy," Harry interrupted as Daisy spiralled into one of her rambles. "It's fine." He took her hand in his, and left his seat so that they could sit on the bed. "Like I told you before, I'm just relieved your back. Things aren't so bad when you're around."

She gave a hollow laugh. "I never thought I'd see the day when you missed having me around." She gave his hand a squeeze, running a thumb over the back of it. She found herself comparing them to her own. His hands were calloused and peppered with small childhood scars, remnants of Harry hunting; hers had changed to resemble his, bearing scars she'd gotten over her absence as well as the remnants of Daisy hunting. Their hands were a similar shape, long and agile, inherited from their mothers, perfect for things like piano playing and wrapping around Snitches. She'd never noticed. Daisy shook herself out of her reverie to look at him. "Are you _really_ okay though? Not just with things here, I mean. Are you sleeping okay? Before I came back, I read in the Prophet that-"

He cut her off again, dark brows knitting together in a frown. "I don't want to talk about that, Daisy. I'm _fine_. And Aunt Petunia wouldn't be happy if she found out I was talking to you about this."

"Mum isn't here, is she? And I _don't_ want to go back to Hogwarts, Harry," Daisy reassured him. "I don't care that you are. I'm not jealous of you. What's to be jealous of? You may be Heir to House Potter, but I am Vernon Dursley's daughter and here that actually means something. No stupid Slytherins I can't take care of – I just _dare_ someone to mess with me at my new school. I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me about stuff that happen at Hogwarts, Harry. As far as I'm concerned it's just your school, just like Dudley goes Smeltings and I'm probably going Farlington."

"I just don't want to talk about it."

"If you're sure." She ran her other hand through his hair, worried for him, but she'd had enough experience with her brother to know that there were some things not to be pushed at. Harry's eyes closed, leaning into her affections. Daisy sighed. "I should go."

"You don't have to keep checking up on me, you know?" Harry said, instead of the 'Don't go, please' that was threatening to rise up from where it was lodged in the back of his throat. "I'm fine."

"I know," Daisy smiled as she stood up, "but, no matter what happens – even if Lockhart has another go at my memories – I'll _never_ forget that you were nice to me when Dad hated my guts, Mum couldn't even look at me and I didn't know I could lean on Dudley. You could have made my life hell at Hogwarts if you wanted to, but you didn't. You were there for me. So I'm going to be there for you."

Harry shook his head. "I wasn't there for you. I let you down. I never looked out for you – not once. I was too wrapped up in my pride, and I should have helped you the way you wanted to. If I'd told you about hearing the snake, if I'd spent more time with you in the dungeons or something, one of us would have figured it out. If I had done my job properly, you wouldn't have had to make up the whole Heir business and Lockhart-"

This time it was Daisy who stopped Harry in his tirade. He had stopped looking at her, his green eyes downcast and fixated on the hands on his lap. "Harry. Harry, look at me. Listen to these words carefully because I am only ever going to be this honest with you once. If I had known there was a great big snake in the school that you could control, I would have somehow had it eat most of the Slytherins, and then let you take the blame for it. And if he somehow managed to escape being eaten, Lockhart would have probably _still_ tried to kill me because as far as I was concerned, he was an incompetent fool, and you know what Dad says about incompetent fools – you get rid of them. Quirell showed us last year what happens when you don't. Oh, and there was a plan involving Draco Malfoy ending up impaled on a spike or a few dozen – you might have taken the blame for that one too. I mean, Lucius Malfoy doesn't strike me as the kind to take the loss of his only son lightly. So really, Harry – don't feel too bad."

She gave him a condescending pat on the shoulder, her sweet smile purposely incongruous to what she had just said. If she expected him to look horrified, she was disappointed: Harry seemed to perk up and look happier than when she'd said _nice_ things to him.

"You know," he said as he stood up, "you're really sweet when you want to be."

"What do you mean 'sweet'?" Daisy demanded, "Did you listen to a single word I said?"

"Yes, of course. You said '_Harry, please don't feel guilty because there was nothing you could have done, and so because I really care about you here is my attempt to make you try and hate me instead of feeling bad_'." He turned her around, and pushed her to the door by her shoulders. Whatever Daisy was going to say was silenced by the hug he pulled her in, his mess of dark hair tickling her cheek. "It's nice to know you care, Daisy. You should know though that I don't want to hate you. Or Aunt Petunia. I've known you all long enough."

Daisy sighed. "If I were you, I would hate me. I would hate all of us. I would have poisoned us. I would have _destroyed_ this family if I were you." She sighed again. "I don't understand how you don't hate us."

"Yes, you do," he said softly. "Why are you still talking to Uncle Vernon? He was horrible to you. If it wasn't for the Masons, he probably would have carried on pretending like you didn't exist. And I heard what Dudley told you – how he locked you in your room. How he could still do it if you wanted to. You can lock your door from the outside now, and the fact that your window is the only one in the house with wires isn't hard to miss. But do you hate him?"

Daisy shook her head. "He's…he's my Dad, Harry. He's my family."

"Exactly."

"Oh," Daisy breathed as she understood what he was getting at. "We're your family."

"The only one I've got." He pulled away suddenly, clearing his voice as he put space between them. He didn't look at her again, returning to his seat at the desk, his back to her as he said, "Goodnight, Daisy."

"Goodnight, Harry."

The conversation haunted Daisy well into the night, as she stared at the wall where she knew his room to be. For all her talk of Harry being family and needing to be treated right, the idea that Harry considered _them_ to be family had never really sunk in. She'd assumed that he was just happy to have her back because her family was nicer to him when she was around, but therein was the problem: she considered them to be _her_ family – and Harry. She'd never been close to him growing up, so when they Hogwarts letter brought them together, she called him her cousin because that's what he was, but in her head he was more like a really friend. Her first wizarding friend. But Harry _was_ her family, and her family was Harry's. And in the real sense of the word, not just when it benefited her.

The sky was beginning to lighten when she came to the crushing realisation that she was just like her father. When Harry inconvenienced her, she was more than happy to cut him out of her life, but when she needed him, for something or other that was mostly selfish, he was the greatest cousin in the world, a title she had also given Lucas on her ninth birthday to convince him to push her brother head-first into his cake. Was she a bad person? Was her father a bad person? Was Harry the only good person in the family? Did that mean he wasn't family? Her Mum wasn't a full-blooded Dursley – so why was she like them – her, Dudley and Dad – who had Dursley pulsing through their veins? Or did blood really have nothing to do with anything? Or were things just not that simple?

By the time her mother's head appeared at her door to signal her five am 'Is Daisy still here?' check, Daisy had decided to never think of such things again. Instead, she resolved to ask her father which of the schools her mother had short-listed he could have the most influence at because plotting her ascent to Head Girl or figuring out if she was still being paired up with Nick Mason, was a whole lot easier than calling into question who she was.

She was Daisy Dursley. That was all she needed to worry about.

* * *

"Dudley?"

"Yah?"

The three teenagers were lounging around the living room, in varying degrees of relaxation, watching television. Vernon was currently at work and Petunia had stepped out to get some groceries with strict instructions that they weren't to leave the house under _any_ _circumstances_. Dudley had received a rare cuff around the back of the head when he dared to ask what they were meant to do if the house set on fire.

Harry enjoyed this down time between chores, happily helping the twins to polish off the cakes Petunia made at astonishing rates and showed no apparent desire to slow down her baking to reflect the fact that there were only four other people in the house, not forty. The cakes needed to be eaten and there was only so much cake Dudley could eat, even if it was a lot, so Harry helped the baked goods disappear. Even if sometimes he went to bed with an upset stomach at least it wasn't an empty one.

"Shouldn't you be back at school?" Daisy asked. A conversation with her father the night before about the Masons had brought her attention to the fact that Dudley was missing an awful load of school, whilst Nick was apparently excelling at Smeltings. According to her father, Nick found the Smeltings sticks to be 'highly educational'.

Dudley turned from the bowl of sweet goodness balanced on his stomach to cast a cold look at his sister. "You bored of me already?"

The question was a simple one but something inside Daisy froze. She shouldn't have said anything. "No, of course not! It's just that I wouldn't want you to be missing school because of me. I didn't mean – I – I'm sorry! I - forget that I asked."

Harry exchanged a meaningful look with Dudley at Daisy's reaction. "Daisy, are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course," Daisy said, forcing herself to relax and let go of the blanket currently clenched in her hand, and to gain some control the sudden panic that sometimes gripped her for no reason at all. "Sorry, I –" She scolded herself for the continuous apologies, shaking her head and forcing a smile. "What about you then, Harry? Do you know when you're going back?"

"I figure we're going to get letters if and when school reopens," Harry shrugged. "Aunt Petunia looked getting me into Stonewall if it comes down to it but I guess they'll tell us what our options are. I don't mind either way. As much as I love you-know-where, I… I kinda don't want to be the odd one out. Again. It'd be cool if we were just all one kind of normal, you know?"

Daisy nodded distractedly, "Yeah."

Dudley, who had learned what it was like to be the odd one out, vocalised none of the comments that were floating around in his mind in regards to Harry's freakishness and how he wasn't part of the family anyway so it didn't matter. Instead he went back to watching television – or pretending he was. He was busy watching his sister out the corner of his eye; her posture had stiffened, her jaw was clenched tightly, and her hands would slowly unfurl only to curl back up into fists. Dudley had noticed that she had odd reactions like this to perfectly normal things sometimes – it was hard not to. She'd never been so jumpy and tense before, and there were times when she apologised for the _oddest_ things when usually, getting an apology out of her when she _had_ done something wrong was near impossible. Dudley was beginning to think that maybe she did remember what had happened to her, just not consciously, or maybe she just wasn't telling them. He was also beginning to think he'd have to make a list of all the people he was going to tear limb from limb with his bare hands for hurting his little sister because they were growing too many for him to remember.

He was brought out of his thoughts by a tapping on the window. Harry opened the window and two owls swooped in, one landing on the coffee table and the other landing on the arm of Daisy's seat, holding out its leg expectantly to her.

"It must be confirmation that I'm no longer a student," Daisy sighed, turning over the envelope in her hand, running a thumb along the looped dark green handwriting on the thick yellow parchment.

As much as she'd liked to complain about it (_and_ tell Parkinson that the kind paper you got in the Muggle world was no different to parchment - and maybe even better than their stupid antiquated writing instruments), she was going to miss using parchment. That, and writing with a quill. Though perhaps not the ink splodges. And constantly having to sharpen it. Or running out of ink. However, she had begun to get the hang of knowing how much ink would get her through the term, or knowing that it didn't matter what you wrote your History of Magic essay on because Binns probably wouldn't read it or wouldn't care. Not that any of that mattered now.

This was the last Hogwarts letter she'd ever get. This was really it. This was the end of a short but eventful era. No more magic. Despite everything she'd said about not wanting to go back and not caring about Hogwarts, she found herself wishing that she'd just had a bit more time – she hated the thought of the Pureblood Slytherins who had tormented her winning. They'd gotten what they wished for; the Slytherin Muggleborn was gone.

Slowly, she opened the letter as Harry ushered the owls out.

_Dear Miss Dursley, _

_We are pleased to inform you that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be re-opening its doors on the 21__st__ March. The Hogwarts Express will be departing from King's Cross Station at its usual time unless you wish to make other travel arrangement. If there are any problems concerning this return date, please address your concerns to Professor Flitwick. _

_We look forward to your return, _

_Professor M. McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress _

What the-? This wasn't the letter she had been expecting. There had to be some sort of mistake.

"Guess I'm going back in a week and a bit," Harry said, from his corner over the room, his own letter in hand. "Hurrah."

"I know…" Daisy said, reading the words over again to make sure she had read it right the first time. "For some reason, I got the same letter. There must have been a mix up."

"Let me see," Dudley said, wiping chocolate-covered hands on his trousers before holding out his hand expectantly.

"Hold on, there's another letter." This one bore the Ministry insignia, recognising the imposing 'M' from the letter that had warned her and Harry about use of magic last summer. This had to be the letter confirming her withdrawal from the wizarding world.

_Dear Miss Dursley, _

_In accordance with the Muggleborn Protection Act (1993), all Muggleborns born in the British Isles or to British parents are invited to register with the Ministry of Magic. The primary aim of this measure is to enable to Ministry to provide a greater scope of protection for its Muggleborn citizens, with hopes of bringing a long-term end to the violence and discrimination perpetrated against an important part of our population. _

_All Muggleborns between the age of eleven and seventeen must attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Exemptions to this may be granted on a case-by-case basis by the Head of the Muggleborn Registration Commission. Application for exemption can be made upon registration. Details of the registration process can be found below. _

_We look forward to your visit. _

_Lucius Malfoy, _

_Head of the Muggleborn Welfare Division_

* * *

_**A/N**__: Canon? What is canon? Update? What is update? Ha. Does this chapter count as a fluffy chapter? It was originally much shorter and kind of just summarised Daisy's return, but then I realised that I love Snape, I love (writing) the Dursleys and trying to make Harry as fleshed out as possible is very important to me. I'm not quite sure yet how not facing a Basilisk or saving Ginny's life or having Daisy around is going to impact on his personality, but I want to make sure any changes make sense. Maybe this Harry won't have a 'people-saving thing' because he has a 'what will Aunt Petunia say' thing. Who knows? Another thing that is very, very important to me is making Lucius Malfoy the next Dark Lord. I may or may not be serious. _

_On a _completely_ unrelated note, has anyone ever read a serious Fanfiction where Dudley is a Dark Lord? Or Ron, actually?_

_But enough of my rambling! Thank you for reading, and I absolutely love hearing from you guys so be sure to leave a review! Until next time. _


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"I…I don't understand."

Petunia's hands shook as she sunk into a chair at the kitchen table, still clutching the letters in her hands, her eyes re-reading the words on the parchment paper as if they might change if she read them enough times. The flush she had brought in from carrying the groceries had long left her cheeks, and she was deathly pale in the glow in the kitchen light.

"Maybe it's a mistake," Daisy offered. She hated seeing her mother like this. "Maybe it's a forgery."

"No," Petunia breathed, turning her attention the envelopes she had demanded upon first reading the letters. "Severus showed me - in case it happened again. These seals – they're real."

Refusing to accept that this could possibly be it, Dudley came up with a seemingly endless stream of alternate possibilities to the one presented before them, pulled from films he had seen and discussions he had had with peers on the possibilities of forging official documents, insisting that wizards couldn't possibly be beyond it, but this didn't seem to bring any relief to their mother. Harry looked on with concern, knowing when it was best to speak and when it was best to act as if he did not exist. The atmosphere remained wrought with nervous tension until Vernon arrived and found a solution to their problem: he ripped up both the letters and threw them in the bin.

"That's sorted," he declared. "What's for dinner?"

"Vernon, we can't just-" Petunia started, but Vernon did not want to hear any of it.

"Daisy's not going anywhere. There's nothing to discuss. Who do those crackpots think they are anyway? Muggleborn Registration my bloody backside!" Vernon looked around at the tense kitchen, noting the worry on the three faces that stared back at him. As much as he knew his son had to grow up, to face the harsh reality of life in order to become a true Dursley, Vernon missed the days when the worried frown on Dudley's face didn't seem so permanent. "What are you looking like that for? I just told you that your sister isn't going anywhere." He sighed, twirling an end of his moustache in thought. "Go and get dressed – both of you. Since your mother looks like she's coming down with a headache, I guess I'll be feeding you."

If Petunia felt the dig, she didn't make any sign acknowledge it. "You can't. It's not safe yet. There's a madman out there."

"There is _always_ a madman out there," Vernon stated.

"We could order in," Dudley suggested, sensing the familiar tension of a different kind rising as his parents stared at each other, a challenging gleam in his father's eyes. "Or there's plenty of food in the freezer."

"There is a _specific_ madman who took our daughter," Petunia insisted. "A specific madman that belongs to the world that she is being dragged back into by their government. A specific madman who could very well show up any minute and you would be powerless to do anything. A specific madman who would murder you and everyone in whatever junk food dispenser you're thinking of taking them to without blinking an eye! Yes, there are always mad men out there but right now there is a specific madman who could very well still be after our baby!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Vernon snapped back. "_I_ wasn't the one who let her go that shambles of an institution in the first place, was I? _None_ of this would have happened if you'd just listened to me."

"I fancy Chinese," Daisy announced. This was the first time since she'd been back that they had skipped the prelude of biting digs and her mother in near tears before the accusations started flying. Their arguments had been growing more volatile in recent days, rising beyond tones that would have usually been hushed for fear of what the neighbours would think. "I think I saw a few menus in the recycling pie. Or there's lasagne in the freezer, right?"

"How _dare_ you? It was _your_ brilliant idea to remove her from her world that placed her in danger! I know I have made mistakes but at least I actually care about _her_! As my _daughter_ and not as some pawn in your ridiculous fantasy of world domination," Petunia spat, rising to her feet as her anger and frustration rose within her. Their promise of 'Not in front of the children' had long broken down, especially when he came home itching for a fight. "You couldn't care less if you get murdered in the middle of a restaurant because at least then the Masons would know all about it, your face splashed across the local news, and _that's_ all you care about."

"Do you have no idea how hard these past couple of months have been for me?" Vernon demanded, stepping forward to meet his wife, wishing not for the first time that she was just a little shorter so that he could be a little more intimidating. "Just try explaining to an entire dinner table where your wife and children are _yet again_. You try and find another way to phrase 'oh well, my wife does nothing but lie in her bedroom and mope about all day whilst my son takes after her and disappears into his video games and food unable to carry on living because my daughter – yes the one who appears to never have set foot in Our Lady of Grace despite what we told you – has been kidnapped by a man who has done god knows what to her and hasn't been seen by anyone since our neighbours called the police because she jumped out of the ruddy window'! You try and find a way to convince them that we are the nice, normal family from Little Whinging that we once were and not this dysfunctional, freak-infested mess!"

Petunia was perturbed by neither her husband's tone nor the large fingers that were digging into her arms, shaking her lithe body as he spoke. She levelled him instead with a blank stare. "That's it? _That's_ been the hardest part? Not the part where we didn't know where she was or if she was even alive? Or how about the part where they'd found her but we couldn't see her because he'd tortured her to near insanity? No, just the part where a bunch of people that only you care about asked you where your family was and you had to sweat a little trying to figure out what lies would come out of your mouth next."

His grip tightened, his face thunderous and for a brief moment, Petunia wondered if she had pushed him too far, if he was going to really hurt her and in front of the children too, but he took a deep breath instead, letting his hands drop to his sides.

"Get out."

"What?"

"Leave," Vernon elaborated. "I don't need this. I don't need this magic nonsense, and I don't need you. Pack your bags and leave." They all watched him as he crossed the kitchen and picked up the phone. "Hello Kathy – it's Vernon. Do you think I could get a car sent over? No, no – I'm turning in for the night but Mrs. Dursley wants to see a few friends who are in town for the week. You know how it's been. I think it'll do her some good too. I will do. Thank you, Kathy. Good night."

"I'm not going anywhere," Petunia informed him as he turned back to them. "Not without my children."

"Dad, this is silly," Daisy said, feeling an ache in her chest. This was all her fault. "Can't we just-"

"Stay out of this," Vernon snapped. He sighed when she looked at him wide-eyed, reminding himself for the umpteenth time that he had to be gentle with her. She could be so bloody skittish these days. "Princess, I am just doing what is best for all of us. And right now, your mother leaving is just that."

"I'm their mother," Petunia insisted, real panic beginning to creep in now. He wasn't joking. "They _need_ me."

"I'm sure we can manage on our own. I suggest you start packing." He rummaged in his wallet, and pulled out a card, returning to the phone. "Hello, this is Vernon Dursley, Director at Grunnings Inc speaking. Yes, I'm having a few clients visiting over the next few days - would it be possible to arrange the catering services? Starting from tonight. Option 2 please. No. Yes. How spicy is that? No, that's fine. Thank you." He hung up. "Well, that's dinner sorted. I'm going to wash up. And you'd better be gone by the time I'm finished."

"What about Harry?"

Vernon paused at the question. He'd forgotten about the boy. "That Dumbledore bloke said that we'd be safe as long as we looked after him, didn't he? And that the protection is linked to your blood? Well, I'll go ahead and assume that means as long as the kids are here, and he's here, no madman is going to get to us. So I guess the boy stays."

"Vernon!" Petunia called, watching his retreating back, distractedly noting the beginning of a bald spot on the back of his round. He didn't turn around, pulling his arm out of her hold when she tried to pull him back. She followed him to the kitchen doorway, where she found herself leaning against it for support. She felt faint. This couldn't be happening. "Vernon!"

"He's bluffing," Daisy said, trying to convince herself more than anyone else. "He'll calm down, and when he's had something to eat and a nice hot shower, he'll realise he made a mistake. He just…he just wants to upset you, Mum."

Petunia wasn't so sure he'd calm down. Since the arrival of the Hogwarts letters, their united front had taken a hit and continued doing so. Daisy's disappearance had been the icing on the cake, and now that things were showing no sign of returning to normal… She felt the ghost of Vernon's grip on her arms and for the first time in a long time, she could find no excuse for it, just a fear of escalation. They both loved to be in control, it was one of the things they'd always had in common; in control of their image, in control of their home – in control of their lives. They'd been a team that worked well together, and her compulsions to clean in the face of uncertainty and stress found a purpose of being in his own desires to have the perfect middle-class family that the Dursleys always strove to be, and never quite attained. Vernon was going to be the Dursley that changed that. His dream was falling apart and Petunia was smart enough to see that, to see just how dangerous that made him.

She did need to leave.

Taking a steadying breath to fight against the rapidly building headache, Petunia pushed herself off the door and returned to the kitchen. Daisy rushed to her mother, clinging around her small waist, her arms tightening when Petunia placed a kiss on the top of her head.

"We'll come with you," Dudley said, grasping his mother's outstretched hand, but sure enough of his emotions to allow to be pulled into a hug.

Petunia shook her head. "No, your father's right. This is the safest place to be. And us being in the same house – it's toxic. You shouldn't have had to see that. And your father, he – he loves you very much, in his own way and fighting him when he has all these resources at the end of a phone, it's - I –" She held Daisy closely, her chin resting on her daughter's head. "It's going to be okay, Daisy-bear. His reputation is built on you and your brother. If anyone can get you away from the wizards, it's your father."

Dudley wasn't convinced. "Mum."

"It's only for a week or so. We just need some time to cool off. I will phone you every single day, morning and night. And soon we'll be able to put this pesky business behind us like nothing ever happened."

"Mum," Dudley tried again, feeling the tears stinging his eyes. "We can fight him. There's four of us and one of him. Don't let him do this."

"He wants the fight," Petunia said, shaking her head once more. "He would love nothing more that for the whole street to see him throw me out. You know that, Dudley." She pulled away from Daisy to turn to Dudley, taking his face in her hands, wiping away the single the tear that rolled down. "You know exactly what your father has become capable of and I am so, so sorry for that. I really am." She kissed his cheek, before forcing herself to let him go rather than cling to him until he was her happy little Dudders once more as she so desperately ached to do. "I'll be back before you know it. Look after your sister."

Biting back the sob that rose up in her throat, Petunia stumbled out of the kitchen, gasping for air as she fell against the wall in the corridor, taking a moment to gather her thoughts, the wall cool against her skin. Upstairs she could hear the sound of running water. Her fingers curled into fists. Where was Lily when she needed her? '_Where were you when Lily needed you?_' her mind shot back.

"Aunt Petunia."

Petunia jumped, not realising that Harry had been stood in the corridor and was now watching her, concern etched in those bright green eyes staring back at her. _Lily's eyes_. She straightened up and walked over to him, placing a hand in that unruly black hair he got from his father, grateful that Harry had long stopped flinching at the gesture as she had long stopped resenting him for sharing DNA that got his sister killed. She didn't know what to say to him.

"Just – just stay out of his way."

Harry watched her climb the stairs, and stood there listening to the sounds of the suitcase being pulled out from under the bed, of the opening and shutting of drawers, the sound of her feet on the heavily carpeted floors, before joining Dudley and Daisy in the kitchen. They were both sat at the kitchen table in silence, their hands grasped tightly, and identical eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Harry sat down next to Daisy and was taken aback when she reached for his hand, her fingers almost painful around his hand but he didn't dare move or tell her to loosen her grip.

Soon – much too soon - there was the double honk of the car arriving outside and the sound of Petunia coming down the stairs. The front door opened and shut, her heels echoing all the way from outside, growing faint with every steps. Car doors opening, a trunk opening and closing, car doors closing and then the rev of the motor, the crunch of gravel under wheels.

And then she was gone.

* * *

If Vernon had imagined that his life was going to be simple now that his perceived source of continual irritation was out of the way, he couldn't have been further from the truth. It was nothing to do with the glowering looks his children were casting in his direction. No, that he knew they'd eventually get over, and their stewing quiet was better than any misguided attempts to try and convince him to do anything else. It had nothing to do with having to take a few personal days and work from home – London could get busy, and the commute insufferable however nice his latest company car was, so he enjoyed the time at home. No, it was because of those damn wizards.

If he'd just listened to what Petunia had to say, he would have known that she had been trying to warn him that you couldn't just ignore wizards. It wasn't that simple.

When Harry went to get the post at his uncle's grunted demand the next day, he left the parchment letter in the pile of post he handed to Vernon, and disappeared from the kitchen before he could be the scapegoat for Uncle Vernon's anger. Not that Harry had anything to worry about. When Vernon discovered that the Ministry had made this recent envelope rip-proof, he reached for the kitchen scissors and cut the missive into little pieces which he threw into the air, where they fluttered around the kitchen like some twisted confetti. He grinned at the twins who were sat pushing around the breakfast goods delivered last night with dinner around their plates (Dudley _hated_ croissants).

"Vernon 1 – wizards 0," he boasted.

"You're pathetic," Dudley said, pushing away his food. "I'm going to my room."

Daisy followed suit without a word, and they all stayed upstairs, the twins rushing down only when the phone rang so that they could speak to their mother, all the concerned parties trying to sound stronger than they felt. The next day, Harry took the initiative of merely hiding the half a dozen letters that were delivered before dumping them in the bin in hopes of maybe helping the very precarious peace in the house. This meant that on the third day, Vernon was completely taken by surprise by the sudden escalation as no less than twenty-four Ministry letters lay on the mat when he arose early to meet the caterer. Luckily he was off work and could spend most of the day nailing the mailbox shut and burning the letters: Vernon 2 – wizards 0.

His self declared victory did not last long as he severely underestimated the perseverance of wizards and the ingenuity of magic. The house renovations meant that there were no cracks to slot the letters through, and the early spring chill meant no open windows, so any container would do: namely, the containers of food that were dropped off by the caterer, as well as the bottle of fifteen-year old whiskey he'd had specifically ordered - and the milk. In response Vernon cancelled the food deliveries and instructed Harry to heat up what Petunia had left in the freezer or to rustle something up ("_I kept you here, boy, so make yourself useful_").

Vernon's calm and resolve that he would not let those damn wizards win completely slipped away when on the fifth day, a Friday, the letters came pelting out of the kitchen chimney, forty or fifty streaming out and hitting anyone or anything that stood in their way. They all ducked out of the kitchen, arms raised in an attempt to protect themselves. Vernon shut the door firmly behind them, taking deep breaths to calm the rage shaking every single cell in his body, which was difficult when he could still hear the sound of letters whooshing out of a fireplace he had always assumed was just for decoration.

He took the stairs two at a time, opening each bedroom until he found where the three of them had congregated, the boys sat grimacing on Daisy's bed as she dutifully applied antiseptic cream to the paper cuts that they'd received from the sudden assault of letters; Dudley had a particularly nasty one under his right eye whilst Harry looked like he'd been hit square in the forehead by an envelope corner. When Daisy turned at his arrival, Vernon noted an angry thin red line that slashed across her cheek, ending just under her lips amongst the smaller cuts. They all looked like they'd been locked in a room with a rabid cat. He didn't want to know what he looked like.

"Pack some clothes," Vernon told them, his calm, steady voice betrayed by his twitching moustache and the purple colouring of his face. "We leave in an hour."

"What about Mum?" Daisy asked, grimacing as Dudley applied antiseptic cream to her face with a little less care than she had done. "Are we picking her up?"

"Get packed."

"No. This is the safest place for us. We're _not_ leaving! Especially not without Mum. Just stop being stupid, Dad. This could be over in a minute if I just go and register. It's got to be better than this: getting hit in the face with letters and not being able to see Mum anyway."

"You have two options, Daisy," Vernon informed her. "You can do as you're told _or_ you can do as you're bloody well told. We leave in an hour." They continued to stare at him with varying states of dislike, unmoving. "Well? What are you waiting for? I SAID GET PACKING!"

Harry jumped to his feet and rushed to his room, whilst Dudley walked at a more leisurely pace, making sure to accidentally knock his shoulder into his father as he passed him. Vernon made sure to lock Daisy's door. He didn't need the additional trouble, which is why he also made sure to cut every phone line apart from the one he was using in the living room. The last thing he needed was Petunia coming down here with the police accusing him of kidnapping his own children. He was just doing what was best.

By the end of the hour Vernon had acquired a car from a friend of a friend who knew someone who could get him a vehicle who had subsequently dropped it off, taking Vernon's company car in the temporary swap (which would later be declared stolen for insurance purposes), and Daisy, Dudley and Harry had reluctantly climbed into the back of the battered green car that smelt of old socks and cigarettes, all refusing to ride shotgun, whilst he packed the trunk of the car as well as he could.

"Where are we going?" Dudley asked as his father struggled with his seatbelt.

"Away," Vernon replied.

"For how long?"

"We'll see."

If Vernon had a destination in mind, no one knew what it was. Daisy gave up trying to figure out the general direction they were heading in when she finally deciphered that her father was muttering "shake 'em off…shake 'em off" every time he took a sharp turn without warning, sometimes completely changing direction. They stopped only once, and that was only because Dudley promised that if they didn't he was going to wet himself, kicking the back of his father's chair incessantly for a good ten minutes, moaning that he felt his bladder was about to explode. Vernon reluctantly pulled up at a service station, anticipating Daisy's eventual need to go (and subsequent tantrum if he even tried to suggest she should go on the side of the motorway). Whilst they used the facilities, Vernon grabbed some snacks so he didn't have to deal with their whining about food.

"Where's your sister?" Vernon asked when he returned to the car to only find Harry and Dudley moping about outside as they waited for him.

"I don't know," Dudley shrugged. "I thought she was with you."

"Girls take longer to in the bathroom than boys," Harry offered.

Vernon's eyes narrowed. The boy never spoke to him, not if he could avoid it. Shoving the plastic bag of food at Dudley, Vernon ran towards the back of the service station, knowing that he had seen a phone booth – and sure enough, Daisy was in there, furtively looking around as she tapped her foot impatiently. By the time he crossed the distance, she was already off the phone.

"Mum has a right to-"

She was cut off by Vernon's right hand connecting with her cheek. She raised her hand to her stinging cheek, mouth open in shock; his slap had jarred the paper cuts adorning her face. The fact that he had done it hurt more than the slap itself. Her father had _never_ raised a hand to her.

"You stupid girl!" he snapped, dragging her back to the car by the collar of jumper, keeping his voice low to avoid any more attention that he probably already had. "Can't you see I am trying to keep you safe? If they can get into our food what makes you think tapping into a phone line won't be a problem for them, huh? You've set us back by at least another hour."

"They'll find us anyway!" Daisy snapped, wrenching herself out of his hold. "The only way to hide from magic is with _more magic,_ and even then there's no guarantee of not being found. Staying on the move, changing your car, moving houses – none of that is going to work. You're running from the bloody Ministry of Magic!"

"Keep your bloody voice down!" He unlocked the car, and wrenched the back door open. "Get in the car. I SAID _GET IN THE CAR_!" Reluctantly they all piled in. "I don't want to hear another word from any of you until this car stops. Do you understand?" He turned to look at them when he didn't get a response. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"Yes!" Dudley snapped, busy trying to let Daisy let him look at her face which had looked suspiciously red. "Christ, Dad, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing wrong with me, son. The problem lies with the rest of the world."

* * *

It was late in the night before they pulled up to a sad-looking hotel just off the motorway somewhere. They all shared one large family room, Vernon and Daisy on twin beds (Daisy pushed hers as far away from her father as she could) whilst Harry and Dudley shared the fold out bed that creaked ominously whenever Dudley moved. Vernon locked the door from the inside with the key, and slept wrapped around the telephone on the bedside table.

When he was finally snoring, Daisy crept over to her brother, navigating her way through the dark, guided by the glow of the orange street light outside piercing through the cheap curtains.

"Did you get hold of Mum?" Dudley asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Daisy shook her head. "No, she wasn't in. I was going to leave a message when Dad came over."

"So what do we do now?"

"We wait. When we get another shot, we take it."

"She calls twice a day," Harry whispered. "When you don't pick up, she'll get worried. She'll find us."

"Yeah," Dudley agreed. "If anyone can find us, it's Mum." He reached over and took Daisy's hand in his, giving it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. "Get some sleep, Daisy. I bet we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." He sighed as he watched Daisy's outline climb back into bed. "Another long day without television."

* * *

Petunia did get worried. When she returned from a relaxing swim to find that Daisy had called but hadn't left a message, she called home straight away. When she didn't get a response, she tried every half hour until eleven o'clock in the evening at which point she called another number with increasing regularity. It was one o'clock in the morning before she could join him.

"Severus," she breathed when she finally received the curt greeting, "I think there's something wrong."

That's how she came to be sitting in a hired car, two streets away from Privet Drive whilst Severus went to find out what the problem was. Of course there was a chance that Vernon had told them not to pick up the phone, but she knew her children well enough to know that someone would – they'd go as far as to distract their father whilst Harry picked up the phone, just so that she wouldn't worry. She was also fairly certain that Vernon himself would have picked up the phone in order to bark at her to stop calling. No, there was definitely something wrong.

There was a quiet _crack_ in the vicinity, and Petunia knew he'd done that teleportation thing she'd always been envious of them being able to do. She might have accused him of rubbing his ease of transportation and his ability of magic in her face was she not aware that it was considerably faster for him to do it than to walk on his bad leg.

"Well?" she demanded as he got back into the car.

"They're gone," he told her. "It looks as if they left in a relative hurry – there seems to be clothes missing from their rooms. Have the rest of your phone lines always been cut?"

"He would have done it so they couldn't call me."

"Maybe you should call your in-laws."

"I already have. Alfred and Elizabeth haven't seen or heard from him in weeks and Marge told me that even if she knew where Vernon was she wouldn't tell me if I was the last person on Earth." Petunia's hands tightened around the steering wheel. "Where could they have gone? Why would he take them?"

"When were you planning on taking Daisy to register at the Ministry?" Severus asked.

Petunia frowned. "We – we weren't."

Severus turned to her. "What do you mean you weren't? Didn't you read any of the reminder letters?"

"What reminder letters?" Petunia asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Once you've read the initial letter, the system will continue to pester you until you register," Severus explained slowly. "These subsequent letters contain warnings as to what will happen if you keep ignoring them, escalating with gravity with each passing. Eventually an agent of the Muggleborn Welfare Division pays you a visit. They could go as far as to try and take Daisy into their custody. Please tell me that your husband isn't going to try and leave the country."

"Maybe...? We just bought a summer house in the south of France," Petunia said slowly. "Why? What will happen?"

"Magical Law Enforcement will get involved. They've… It's a crime. They're trying to have it labelled as high treason to the wizarding community or something equally ridiculous." Severus sighed. "Go back to the apartment. I'm going to see what I can do. I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

"Severus." He looked at the hand wrapped around her own, before meeting her desperate gaze. "Please – please find my babies."

He nodded solemnly before disappearing into the dark of the night.

* * *

"I told you it wouldn't work," Daisy informed her father the next day as they stood in the middle of a forest. Vernon had stopped in this clearing awhile ago and Harry and Dudley had taken this time to relieve their bladders whilst their father was looking around for something. Only he had any idea of what it was. "I told you they'd find us. Why don't we just go home? Mum's going to be worried sick."

He ignored her as he had ignored the hundred Ministry letters that had been delivered to the reception desk of their hotels all addressed to 'Pepper Holloway' the pseudonym that he'd forced Daisy to assume for the duration of their stay and if ever questioned by anyone. Daisy had wrongly assumed that once he realised the Ministry could detect even pseudonyms her father would just give up, but instead they'd been forced back into the car and back onto the road they were until he drove into the forest they were now stood in.

"Get in the car," was the only thing he said when the boys returned. Next stop was a field, where he got out and looked around, shook his head before returning to the car. The next time they stopped was halfway across a suspension bridge, and this time he stood there longer, and they watched him as he watched the large expanse of water below and the busy traffic alongside it.

"He's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked no one in particular as Vernon repeated this routine at the top of multi-storey car park, staring over the concrete edge.

"I keep hoping he'll jump," Daisy said darkly, despite the fact that this would mean that they would have to break their way out of the car since he locked them in whenever he left. Unfortunately he didn't jump, but he did bear a grim look of determination when he returned to the car.

"You wouldn't happen to know where this Ministry of Magic's power comes to end, would you?" Vernon asked, drumming his fingers on the wheel. "If we took the ferry to say…Denmark, what are the chances of them catching us?"

"You're not taking us to Denmark," Dudley announced. "What about Mum?"

"What about your mother?"

"She'll never forgive you."

"Will they catch us or not, Daisy?"

"I don't know," Daisy said. "I don't understand wizarding borders yet – I just know that they're not always the same as ours. Wizarding Britain doesn't include any of Ireland and they sometimes liaise with other Ministries when they're looking for criminals or for more political power on an international level. I imagine the Ministry will be anywhere they suspect Lockhart to be."

"Dad, this isn't funny anymore," Dudley said. "Just take us home."

Vernon took a sharp turn, sending them flying into each other, Dudley muttering darkly and Daisy nursing a bruised side from where Harry's elbow had collided into it. They stopped again by the sea somewhere, a pebble beach in their site, and he was gone for the longest time here, returning with a bag of chips, a bottle of soda and a package that he placed in the trunk without explanation. A few hours later, as the sky grew steadily darker and a heavy rain began to fall, drumming on the roof of their tin heap of a car, Vernon took to muttering to himself again.

"I loved her, with all my heart. The minute I saw Petunia, I knew… No, that's too cliché. The loss of a child is a hard one to bear, and no matter how solid the foundation of a house even a tornado can come and uproot it. That's what this has been. A tornado on what was once – Good, but could do better…"

"What is he saying?" Dudley asked quietly, sure that the sound of the rain would cover their whispers.

"I think he's talking to himself," Daisy said, watching the back of her father's head with a frown.

"It sounds like he's practising a speech of some sort," Harry suggested. "He keeps correcting himself. I can't really tell what it's about."

All they could do was wait for him to stop again, hoping it would be somewhere warm and the food better than the last place. Dudley prayed for a working television. When Vernon finally stopped, they were back at the forest, or at least a forest. It was hard to tell in the dark.

"Daisy, come help me with something," Vernon said as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "You two stay here."

Vernon led the way, a holdall slung over his shoulder, collar pulled up against the rain. Daisy followed warily, holding a lantern that Daisy didn't even know they'd had to illuminate their path. How did he even know where they were going? Her father had never stuck her as an outdoorsman even though she knew from stories that her Uncle Thomas had been and Aunt Marge was no stranger to the countryside. Daisy almost fell a few times, the ground slippery beneath them but he steadied her before urging her forward.

"Dad? What are we doing?" she asked, growing more and more wet, cold and wary with each passing moment.

"You'll see." They reached the clearing again, and he took the lantern from her, placing it on a tree stump. "Can you go look for a small leather bag? I dropped it off here earlier. It should be over there by that log."

Daisy was pretty sure she hadn't seen him drop anything off, but she humoured him. Though she refused to admit it, he scared her, especially now she knew he could hurt her. It certainly didn't help that she was now all alone in the middle of nowhere with him. As expected she there was no bag. Turning to tell him of this, the last thing she expected was to find a gun pointed at her.

"Dad?" she said slowly, her mind growing frantic as it took in the situation. "Dad – what are you doing?"

"It's for the best, darling," he said, lifting the rifle and holding it with more ease and confidence than Daisy could have ever imagined her father possessing with a gun in his hands - a gun currently aimed at her. Her mind kept supplying her with questions such as 'Where did he get the gun?' rather than something more useful like a command for her feet to move and run. "If they can track you down this way, just imagine what will happen when you register, huh? You'll never be free. That world is going to kill you. And I'm going to set you free before it does." There was a clicking sound. "I owe you that much."

"Dad! Dad, don't do this."

"I am going to miss you so much, Daisy. I'll talk about you all the time, I promise."

"Dad! _Dad_! Daddy, please put the gun down!" Daisy begged. "Daddy, please!"

"I love you, Daisy."

* * *

_**A/N**: Am I the only one who thought in 'Letters From No One' that Vernon was looking for a nice place to get rid of Harry when he was driving to all those place and then just thought 'Hmm, better not'? I also thought their tactics to get their letters to Harry bordered on harassment… 'Oh hey! Let's deprive you of your milk and eggs, bombard you with letters and then send a giant to your door! We're so friendly!' _

_Anyway, sorry for the wait! Life aside, I was really unhappy with all the drafts of this chapter I was writing in hopes of updating. I finally realised it was because I was trying to make this Fanfiction into something it's not: coherent, potentially epic and plotholeless. This may end up devolving into romance with Tom/Daisy/Draco love triangle but what the hell! Let's roll with it. So I have returned to what I enjoy most - having fun exploring different ideas whilst torturing you, my lovely readers, with more twist and turns than is reasonably called for. I love you all really. In the same way Tom loved Manasa. ;) _


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